Real Love

Sometimes I don’t feel like I can sing loud enough, raise my hands high enough, or get low enough on the floor to sufficiently express my love for Jesus. I want to give Him everything… My reputation. My obedience in the secret place. My diligence in daily walking out His plan for my life. Any sacrifice I can make that will feel like the semblance of a worthwhile offering in return for the impact of His unfathomable kindness towards me…

Even with that being true, and feeling it to the core of my being at times, I am continuously reminded of how empty it would all be if that’s how I measured my sense of spiritual well-being or godliness.

I keep being brought back to the simplicity of 1 John 4:10,

“This is real love—not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son…”

I am the object of Love. The recipient. 

He is Lover, I am Beloved. 

My passion and devotion wane, but His fountain never runs dry.

My response to Jesus’ gift of Himself is infinitely inferior to the revealed Love-of-God-in-Christ. It pales in comparison. 

Above all else, I just want to be marked by a growing confidence in this scandalous Love — ever enamored more deeply still in the face of it.