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What Makes Him Different.

Song of Solomon 5 — A midnight knock, a desperate search, and the answer to "why him?"

6 min read

Key Takeaways

When asked what makes her beloved different, she described him head to toe — then called him "friend," because real love is built on knowing and liking someone, not just passion.

Even after being beaten and humiliated searching for him at night, her only message was 'tell him I am sick with love' — not a complaint, but a confession.

📢 Chapter 5 — What Makes Him Different 💎

We're in the middle of the Song of here — an ancient love poem built as a dialogue between two people who are completely consumed with each other, with their friends chiming in along the way. This chapter opens at a high point. Pure celebration. And then, in the span of a few verses, everything shifts. A knock in the middle of the night. A moment of hesitation. A desperate search through dark streets that costs her more than she expected.

Inside this Chapter

Love Identity Rejection Sexuality Loneliness Relationships

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But here's what makes this chapter stay with you. When her friends finally ask her to explain what's so special about him — when they push her on the question everyone eventually gets asked about the person they love — she doesn't hesitate. What comes out is the kind of answer that makes you stop and think about how you'd describe the person you love.

Drunk on Love 🍷

The chapter opens with her beloved arriving. The imagery is rich — garden, spices, honey, wine. This is intimacy celebrated, not hidden. He declared:

"I've come to my garden, my bride. I've gathered my myrrh with my spices, eaten my honeycomb with my honey, drunk my wine with my milk.

Eat, friends. Drink deeply. Be drunk on love."

There's no here. No awkwardness. No pulling the curtain closed. The Bible puts this right in the center of its love poem and says — this is good. Enjoy it. Be intoxicated by it. In a world that either cheapens intimacy or makes it something to feel guilty about, this verse does neither. between two people who belong to each other is worth celebrating out loud. That's not a modern idea. It's an ancient one.

The Knock at Midnight 🌙

Then the mood shifts completely. She's telling the story — half-asleep, that state where your body has shut down but your mind is still turning:

"I was asleep, but my heart was wide awake. A sound — my beloved, knocking."

He called out to her:

"Open to me, my love, my darling, my perfect one. My head is drenched with dew, my hair soaked with the dampness of the night."

But she hesitated. She'd already undressed. She'd already washed up for the night. The excuses were small and completely relatable. She admitted:

"I've already taken off my clothes — should I really get dressed again? I've already washed my feet — should I get them dirty?"

Then something stirred. She continued:

"My beloved reached for the door handle, and my heart raced for him. I got up to open the door, my hands dripping with myrrh, liquid myrrh on the handles of the bolt."

But when she finally opened it, she told them:

"He was gone. My heart sank when I realized it. I searched for him but couldn't find him. I called out, but got no answer."

This is painfully honest. She knew he was there. She wanted him. But she didn't move fast enough, and the moment passed. If you've ever let a small inconvenience talk you out of something that actually mattered — if you've ever stared at a message too long before responding, or talked yourself out of showing up — you know exactly what she's feeling. The door is open. The myrrh is still on the handle. But he's not there anymore.

What It Cost Her 💔

She didn't stay in bed and wait for morning. She went out into the city looking for him. And the streets were not kind to her. She described what happened:

"The watchmen found me as they made their rounds through the city. They beat me. They bruised me. They stripped away my veil — the guards of the walls did this to me."

This is a woman searching alone at night, completely vulnerable. The people who were supposed to keep the city safe became the ones who hurt her. Her veil — a symbol of her dignity and identity — was torn away. had made her reckless, and the world made her pay for it.

But even after that, battered and exposed, she turned to the daughters of and said:

"If you find my beloved — tell him I am sick with love."

Not sick of love. Sick with it. Even after the bruises, even after the humiliation, the only message she wanted delivered wasn't a complaint. It was a confession. She still wanted him. That's not naivety. That's the kind of love that doesn't calculate the cost before it moves.

Here's Why Him 💎

The daughters of pushed back. It's the question your friends ask when they see you go through something hard for someone — the honest, slightly skeptical version of "what is it about this person?" They asked her:

"What makes your beloved better than anyone else, most beautiful of women? What makes him so special that you'd beg us to swear an oath like that?"

She didn't hesitate. She didn't give a vague answer or wave it off. She described him from head to toe, and every detail mattered. She told them:

"My beloved is radiant and vibrant, standing out among ten thousand.

His head is like the purest gold. His hair is wavy, black as a raven.

His eyes are like doves beside streams of water, washed in milk, resting by a full pool.

His cheeks are like beds of spices, banks of fragrant herbs. His lips are lilies, dripping with liquid myrrh.

His arms are rods of gold set with jewels. His body is polished ivory adorned with sapphires.

His legs are alabaster columns set on bases of pure gold. His presence is like Lebanon, as striking as the cedars.

His mouth is pure sweetness, and everything about him is desirable."

Then she brought it home with one line that reframes everything:

"This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem."

Did you catch that last word? She could have ended anywhere — with his beauty, his strength, his sweetness. But the final thing she said was friend. Not just the person she's desperate for. Not just the person who makes her heart race. Her friend. The person she actually knows and actually likes. In a culture that obsesses over chemistry and attraction, this is the part most people skip right past. But she put it last because it mattered most. The passion is real. The poetry is stunning. But the foundation underneath all of it? Friendship. That's what made him worth the midnight search, the bruises, and every detail of that answer.