Blasphemous Love


To love and to be loved. We all crave it. Were created for it.

Daily, we give it. Moment by moment we express it. We show it through wiping bums and cutting the crust off their bread. Through late nights and middle of the nights, and early mornings, and all the crazy hours in between. Through tears and laughter, we love in ways we never understood before.

As women, we only gave pieces of our hearts away. Carefully guarding and protecting such a sacred part of us. But when we became moms all those pieces formed together and found themselves as one. And all our heart was given without inhibition or question to the ones our souls breathe for.

It’s how He loves us, you know? And you probably just answered yes to this question. “Yes, Jesus loves me (*insert smile).” But I call you a liar. And I call myself a liar. You see, I don’t truly know. Don’t understand.

Because If I knew–really–how deep and wide His love… A love that pushes past my ugly. That squats right down down into the muck and junk of my life, and holds me right in the middle of it. A love that doesn’t give me pieces…

Pieces seem more reasonable, more something I can fit into my little intellectual box. And so daily I accept His pieces. Bits of His heart that keep me going each day. But most days I can’t even wrap my mind around His love being likened as my own measly heart to my children. Let alone that being comparable to a drop in that ocean we frequent day after day.

What if I stopped taking the pieces, and accepted His whole heart, given to me?

What if I let myself really believe it? That He loves me even when I’m most unlovely. That He smiles at me simply because I am His. That He calls Himself “the many breasted One,” the “mother” to my broken self. What if I let Him love me in the way He wanted to? And I lived my days fully known and fully loved?

A seemingly blasphemous thing, isn’t it? And yet, it’s how He longs for it to be.

We are moms. We live with unwashed hair and peanut butter stained shirts. But it’s not the outward filth that holds us back. It’s the dirty insides we struggle with each day. The shortcomings and failures we can’t seem to erase.

Do we love our kids because of their perfections?

We are not supposed to be be perfect inside. But to fall hard on the One who is. To nose dive straight into His love filled arms, and call Him for who He is: the lover of our souls.

We are the lucky ones. Because daily we can be reminded of His love. And each time our heart spills right out of our chest in pride over our little ones, we can be reminded of that small taste of pride He takes in us. And every time the tears burn hot with passionate love towards them, we can know He matches us tear for tear.

Every time you laugh at their silliness, hear Him laughing over you. With each sloppy kiss, feel a touch of His own. And as you dance in that carefree way when its only you and the kids, close your eyes, and see Him dancing completely uninhibited over you.

Sometimes, or oftentimes, as moms we fail. And that is where the comparisons stop. Because He will never fail you. He will love you to the end.

To love and to be loved: the very thing we were created for. Open up today, sweet momma, and allow His deep passion to take over.

I pray that you will be able to understand how wide and how long and how high and how deep His love is. I pray that you will know the love of Christ. His love goes beyond anything we can understand. I pray that you will be filled with God Himself.  ~Ephesians 3


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