“As the father has loved me, I have also loved you. Remain in my love….no one has greater love than this; that someone would lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:9, 13, HCSB
I am the girl in the meadow, plucking the daisy. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not…
Where will the petals run out? Will I believe the testimony of a flower? How can I determine His love?
See, my life isn’t going the way I had hoped. I wanted something….desperately. It was a good thing, a pure hope and honest ambition. Life is dousing that spark, and the waves of disappointment make me feel unloved.
“Don’t you love me?” I cry.
His gaze settles unwavering on me, but I hear nothing.
“I don’t feel your love.” I weep again.
Still, that soft look holds steady, but His voice does not fall on my ears.
I’m exasperated now, and in frustration I spit, “Why won’t you speak! How can I know that you love me?”
He smiles, the sad sort of smile, like I’ve injured His heart. His soft voice drifts across my anger. “Beloved, I have shown you.”
“But I want to hear the words.”
“I’ve shown you.” He stretches His hands forward, beckoning me to His arms.
I see the evidence, the scars in His hands, my name engraved there. I look back to his face and there is love in His glistening eyes. I know now, I remember. How foolish of me to seek truth in the passing moments of life. Flowers stretch forth from their stems, bloom, and then die all in a matter of months…why would I discern His love from their fading petals?
“Do you believe me?” He asks.
I crash into His arms. “Yes,” my tears fall, this time without anger, “I believe that you love me.”