Roses Are Red . . .

Oh Lord, how I love you. You, who are so worthy of love. The greatest Giver of love. The Author of love. The only gift I have to bring that is of any worth is only what you have given me in the first place. Yet, give it I will. And gladly so. I love you. And although I don’t always feel it, I always mean it. I love you.

When my life is seemingly stagnant, and the silence of routine paves a smooth road for doubt and insecurity to come knocking (barging in, more like) at my door, I love you. When the exhilaration of growth and progress propels me toward my goals, and I feel that I could take on the whole empire of darkness myself, I love you. When comfort and satisfaction settle in and begin to blind me to my ever-growing need for a Joyful and Loving and Peace-Giving Father, I love you. When complacency rusts my sharp edges and the Great Blacksmith, The Gracious Commander of Hosts, puts me to the grindstone and into the furnace to make new what has been broken, I love you.

You love me as I am, yet you will never stop calling me and forming me into who I am in your eyes, and for that, I love you. For nothing, I love you. I’d love you for money. I’d love you for free. I’ve loved you before, I love you now, and forever I will. This love is every moment, of every day, always.

In your gentle robes of pearl, and in all of your humility, I love you. Adorned in your glorious crown, wreathed in colors beyond imagination and wrapped in peals of thunder, and in all of your splendor, I love you. Astride your magnificent steed, eyes of fire and wielding a double edged sword, with justice in your veins and wrath for the enemy dripping from your crimson garments, and in all of your valor, I love you. Beaten and humiliated, mocked and ridiculed, betrayed and broken, and in all of your grace, I love you. Risen indeed, in all of your Glory, I love you.

I love you and I love you. And in case I decide to forget it someday, here is a little reminder for myself: I love you. And don’t you forget it. And don’t I forget it. As a token of my love for you, please accept these gifts. You’ve asked me for them before, but I didn’t quite understand why you would want them. But in the spirit of loving one another, I will trust you and give you what you asked for.

Here is my pride. It has always been a close friend, and never failed to tell me exactly what I wanted to hear (I can’t imagine why that would be a bad thing). Do with it what you will. Kill it if you must (you must). Here is my incessant need for control. It has always kept me company like a warm weighted blanket, slowly suffocating my ability to trust in You with all of my heart, and lean not on my own understanding. Light it on fire, and let’s roast a mean weenie over its ashes. I sure do love you, Jesus.


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