I know my husband loves me. He doesn’t surprise me with candlelit dinners or flowers. But he cleans the house on his day off. Chooses not to sigh when I’m the last one ready. Plans amazing family trips. I’d be a fool to wait for flowers as proof of his love when the clean floor is proof already. I’d be wrong to complain about his missing “romance gene” when my husband cheerfully does the dishes after a long day at work. His love serves me every day.
I know my God loves me. At least I claim I do. But when I beg him for more resources or less pain or a snappy resolution to my conflicts and God seems silent . . . well, then my confidence wobbles. I want God to prove his love with a yes to all my prayers. Preferably with one-day delivery. But if I limit God to my personal terms of love, I’m a fool. “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us” (1 John 3:16).
My heavenly Bridegroom scrubbed the filthy floor of my heart with his holy blood. He cheerfully provides me with food and clothes and energy for each day, even when I don’t thank him. He doesn’t sigh when I come to the Lord’s Supper—“That wrongdoer and those sins again?” He strengthens my faith, encourages me with his Word, and has an amazing plan for my eternal life.
Lord, I know you love me. Thank you for all the ways you prove it. Amen.