Monday, May 28, 2012

Love Will Save the Day


Hanging in my living room is a three dollar, five by seven, wooden plaque, which claims, “Love will save the day.”
           
            Countless times I’ve crossed its path.
            
            I’ve angered in front of it. Envied, worried, and wrestled only one room away. I’ve strived, labored, stewed and festered in its presence.
            
            I’ve paced across its face. Restlessly, back and forth, back and forth.
            
            Yet, the whispers of this wooden plaque never change, never cease -- never abandon their mission.
            
            “Love will save the day,” it beckons.
           
             My children stretch my patience, exhaust my self-control, and track mud across the kitchen floor.
            
           “Love will save the day,” it calls.
           
             I lose my temper, I make another commitment – only to later break it, I mistreat the ones I adore the most, and my best intentions fall short -- again.
            
            “Love will save it the day,” it pursues.
            
            Tragedy on every channel, prodigals who have yet to come home, marriages dying, and hearts, everywhere, hardening.
            
            “Love will save the day,” it woos.
            
Relentless.

Romantic.
            
Rapturous.
            
              I can no longer resist its lure. Love’s lure. His lure.
            
             “Love will save the day,” he promises.
            
             “But will you let it? Will you let me?” He asks.
            
             Ah, but that’s just it. Do I trust enough to let go? Every hour, in my own living room, I read that “Love will save the day.” I confess with my mouth that I believe it to be so, but my emotions speak the opposite, with anxiety, doubt, and control.

           I recently read that all fear is but the notion that we do not serve a loving God. Does this mean that when I keep my fists clenched, when I fret over my busy schedule, when I wonder if things will ever change, that all I am really saying is, “My Lord doesn’t love me”?

           Oh, but he does. I re-read his love letters to aid my memory. And there it is, His Love, dripping off of every page:

What heights, what depths (Ephesesians 3:18); He loved us first (1 John 4:19); a love that surpasses knowledge (Ephesians 3:19); I have loved you (John 15:9); the Father loves you (John 16:27); He gave himself for you (Ephesians 5:2); and on and on.

              I close His giant Love Letter and look around. He is writing His love for me all over the room. I hear it in the sound of my children’s laughter, I see it in the blooming of my orchid, I smell it in the brownies baking, I feel it in my husband’s caress, and I taste it in this glass of sweet tea. It’s underneath me, above me, it’s inside of me.

              I inhale deep.

            “Forgive me...” I exhale. I inhale again. The air is lighter, cleaner, less burdensome.

             How easily I forget His love. What amnesia I have when it comes to the Lord’s faithfulness.

            I glance over the rim of my laptop’s edge and read the plaque again. This time I can’t help but giggle aloud.

I am loved.

I AM loved.

I AM LOVED.

            A veil was torn, the earth shook, rocks split, and Love, forever, saved the day. (Matthew 27:51)

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