Lord, each time You convince me that You love me, it wounds me somehow. A wound too gentle and reassuring to credit such a name, and yet there’s no denying that throbbing ache. I suppose it is my pride that You wound with this Love of Yours, for I feel my ego buckle at even the slightest recognition of Your thirst for me. Could an exhaled breath skim the Berlin Wall causing it to evaporate at its touch, it would serve to demonstrate how Your Love affects my pride. In a fleeting moment of faithful certainty, I feel You knowing me, with a depth I cannot even claim for myself. You unearth my deepest concerns, and I look on with amazement as You transform them from anchors to wings. For too long I have fooled myself into thinking that pride will save my vulnerable heart, even though I have yet to feel the comfort of selfishness, as it does not exist.
You restore my hope in Love. You, Yourself, are the proof of it. You have answered every irrational concern with finesse and compassion. You follow me through every mistake, even as I try to lose You through a false spirit of freedom. You draw near to me. You stay. You choose to feel what I feel, and be where I am. Above all, You Love me, with a Love that bears no parallel. And with every imperfection in my feeble human heart, I choose to demonstrate with my whole life, O Lord my God, I love You too.