And this is Love, not that I have first loved You
And this is Love, that You have first loved me
And You give up your life
One perfect sacrifice
And this is Love, that you have first loved me.
Sometimes, Lord, another person's words strike me once, and never leave. They become a tune I can't shake from my head. And as I grow and change, so do they, always taking on new, yet appropriate meaning.
Such are these lyrics. Here's how they impress me now, as a young woman hanging on a thread of unanswered questions and bungled hopes, a woman who feels alone, and only sporadically loveable.
The miracle of Your love is not in my stumbling adoration of You. It's Your unending, undying worship of me.
You, who have the entire universe at your fingertips ... You, who understand the mysteries of infinity, matter, good and evil ... You, who created man and spirit in your image to reinvent our animal lives ...
You love me. Without strings. Without fail. You love me. Me, of the too many curse words and shaky faith. Remember, I'm the girl who occasionally doubts Your existence, yells at You, and shies away from sticking up for You.
Yet You love me anyway. Warty, grouchy, irritable me.
I don't know why I'm surprised. You are, after all, God. But finding out someone, anyone, anything loves me unconditionally -- precisely BECAUSE I am imperfect, not despite my imperfection -- is always breathtaking.
With great love comes great responsibility to live up to that devotion. I hope I make You proud. But even if I don't, I know You'll want me anyway. For that is Love.