Excerpt
Return to Jesus
1Return to LoveThe Greatest Gift You’ve Been Given
If we knew how much He loves us, we would always be ready to face life—both its pleasures and its troubles. —Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God
The spring day was beautiful, cloudless, with a gentle breeze that helped take the edge off and keep the beads of sweat from forming on brows. It was perfect for strawberry-picking with friends at a local farm where bright red berries dotted the lush green landscape, begging us to put them in our buckets (and a few in our mouths). Visitors, trying to take advantage of the warm weather, filled the parking lots and overflowed into the grass fields.
Soon, the excitement of finding a ripe berry died down and our children began to cry, “It’s hot” and “I’m tired.” Their groans were an indication it was time to head back. With full buckets held by red-stained fingers, we headed to the minivan in the overflow parking.
My daughter has always been a strong-willed child, and this day was no exception to her boundary-pushing, limit-testing way of life. We were walking together in a tight group, and my daughter was next to me. Then, she broke free. Just like that. She went from safely by my side to running in a full sprint dead ahead, and in an instant, she was out of my reach.
She wasn’t looking at what was in front of her. She was just running as children often do, with her legs pressing forward and an unawareness unique to childhood. She didn’t see the rear lights of a car flash red. I knew what that meant, though—that car would soon be in motion, and my daughter was barreling straight for it.
Fear flooded every inch of my being. I yelled as loud as I knew how, my legs racing toward her, but not quite fast enough. Sweat formed on my brow as I screamed, “Nylah! Nylah! Stop! Stop! Stop!”
She was completely unaware of the danger, so engrossed in what she was doing that she could not hear my voice. Finally, she heard me and stopped—an arm’s length away from the vehicle. Nylah turned to face me with an oblivious smile while the car began to back out. My body shook, acutely aware of how close I had come to possibly losing her.
When I caught up to Nylah, I scooped her up and wrapped her little body into mine. Consumed with my love for her, I smelled her hair and felt the softness of her freckled cheeks. As I held her, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift of this sweet, strong-willed child and the way her small frame felt against my own. Feeling her in my arms carried a new weight—it had more meaning than just minutes before. I thanked God for keeping her safe, and in the embrace of tenderness between mother and child, God reached for me.
“Here. See Me. In this moment, I’m here. And I love you.”
Warmth flooded my soul. I knew without any doubt that my Creator, my Father, felt the same unreserved tenderness for me. He knew the smell of my hair, the shape of my face, and the creases of my personality.
And just as I could see what Nylah could not, God sees the direction I’m headed, perceives the dangers I’m blind to, and knows the lies I believe. But like a strong-willed child who thinks they know best, I run. He calls out to me. He offers me the truth of who He is and who I am to Him, but I keep pressing forward in the direction I am headed. I focus on the demands weighing on me—my work, my kids, the bills, the dishes, the laundry, life—and feel a soul-level depletion settle in my bones. I am too engrossed to hear His voice calling to me. When I finally hear Him, stop, and turn, He’s right there waiting to scoop me up and place me safely back into the comfort of His arms.
He does not greet me with condemnation, guilt, or the many things I attempt to place on myself as a result of being human in a fallen world. No, when God cries out for me and I return to Him, I am wrapped in love.
When I picked up my daughter and held her, I knew the smell of her freshly washed, strawberry-blond hair. I knew the way her eyes crinkle in the corner when she smiles. I knew the look she gives when she is being mischievous. I knew how her body folded into mine. I knew every inch of her because I had spent nearly every day with her since she came into this world.
God has spent eternity with you on His mind. He knows you more intimately than you know yourself. He longs for you to know the depth of His infinite love because He is the embodiment of perfect Love. He is love without condition. There are no strings attached. His love is always there. Always waiting. Always inviting.
No matter how far or how long you run. No matter if you aren’t listening. No matter the lies you believe. No matter what your head, your heart, or others may tell you—God is there, waiting to scoop you up in His tender arms. To welcome you home with His loving embrace. An invitation to abide in the fullness of His Presence. An invitation to meet with and settle your whole self into the warmth and security of His love.
Return to Jesus
For a very long time, I struggled to believe God loved me.
I heard the messages at church telling me Jesus died for me. I heard the words spoken in sermons and shared at Bible studies. I was told time and time again that I was infinitely and forever loved by my Father above. I sang songs about Jesus loving me, had conversations about this gift all were offered, and would nod in agreement with friends who said things my head knew to be true.
God loves me. Nod. Nod. Nod.
Jesus died for me. Nod. Nod. Nod.
My head understood the invitation and my words declared the truth of this gift, but my heart couldn’t catch up with my head and my words. I couldn’t hold those truths, because I was being held ransom by lies: I was too broken. Too damaged. Too far gone. I had spent too long away from Him. God doesn’t want me.
Have you struggled to believe that God loves you, too?
If you answered yes, my guess is somewhere along the way, you picked up a message that said you are unworthy, you aren’t enough, you aren’t lovable as you are. Then you took that message and made it your truth. You tucked it deep inside your heart, where it festered and grew. Now anytime something, or someone, tries to tell you otherwise, you nod your head in agreement—but deep down, you still feel undeserving, inadequate, or unredeemable.
If this resonates with your heart and if you struggle to believe you can abide in God’s love, as you are, with no strings attached—please hear me when I say you are not alone. Many of us grapple with this lie because of trauma and wounding. And many more feel unloved simply because we live in a culture that is consumed with performance, applauds overachievement and success in all forms, and publicly shames those who have been deemed unworthy.
I have good news, though: you can silence the lies that hold your heart captive.
I found freedom through trusted friends who were willing to sit with me, study the Word, and listen to me talk about how I just couldn’t really believe I was loved. They were gentle with me and prayed for me. They didn’t grow impatient or tired of the fact that I sometimes sounded like a record stuck on repeat—declaring all the reasons I was unworthy and couldn’t let my heart grab hold of this truth. I broke through the falsities with counseling and by traveling to the hard places in my life. I untangled trauma. I healed. With time and patience, I learned more about who God really is and who I really am to Him. And every time I would forget, God would reach down and remind me of the depth of His love.
He reached down when my daughter was just inches away from being struck by a car. “Here. See Me. In this moment, I’m here. And I love you.” And this wasn’t the first time. Even before I held my daughter close, still shaking from the fear of losing her, the weight of His love had cracked my heart open, threatening to undo me, at the birth of my children.
When my first child was born and placed in my arms, I could sense that there was something so much bigger at play than I had ever grasped before. This screaming bundle of mashed hair, wrinkled skin, and deep-blue eyes had not come into this world offering any reason for me to love her. She wasn’t asking how she could help. She wasn’t caring for me. She wasn’t affirming me or bringing me gifts. On the contrary, she was taking up quite a bit of my time, energy, and resources. But none of that mattered. I loved her. And not just a subtle, surface-level, passing love. I loved this child with a ferocity that echoed through my bones. And just when I thought my heart could not possibly hold more love, we had another child, and I learned that love could expand and stretch and grow. With each experience, a question rose in me: If I love my own children this much, how much more does my Creator love me?
This one question started an avalanche in my heart. I had believed I could not be loved simply for who I am, but God showed me that I am loved more deeply than I could possibly comprehend because I was His. Love was no longer about my performance or my worthiness or how put-together I seemed on a given day. It was about God. It was about the perfect love my Heavenly Father has for me. A love He made known through His very own Son—Jesus.
