Surprise Springrolls.

I sit here with a small boy in my lap, looking through old pictures. I make a game of saying the names as he repeats them. He switches grand-ma, and grand-pa in the photos. He laughs silly as I pointed out, “baby Rowan.” I wonder as I hold such a squirmy little person that he was ever that small. That I was ever that small.

I think about these things more because yesterday was my birthday. And the older you get the less of a big deal we try to make this. And yet, the kindness of others, sometimes reserved for this day, always touches. The kindness says I am loved. Because I wonder.

I was putting water to boil for dinner Thursday night, and turning around I saw a friend in my living room. Armed with platters full of wonderful food, I was shocked—jumped and shrieked. My eyes scanned the stacks of laundry awaiting relocation to closets, saw the things scattered around, I felt embarrassed, unprepared. And then she set the plates down, hugged me, and the mess was really no big deal anymore. She didn’t come to see my house. They came to see me.

I have never had someone cook all day a meal for me, wonderful Vietnamese dishes. It was amazing.  She passed the peanut butter and Hoisen Sauce dip, which my daughter froze mid-bite, thinking was “poison sauce,” and I bit into the delicious spring rolls, and I realized that despite fighting the need for love, it was there. We all have it. Despite saying all I need is God’s love, I realized that He tells us to love others so much because He knows how much we need that too. The food, her handmade button charms for wine glasses, which we filled and served with carefully-chosen-by-husband-lemon birthday cake, all this made for a wonderful pre-birthday feast. And as hard as I fight wanting or needing love, dreading birthdays lest they wave in my face that I am forgotten, I was blessed by love.

A beautiful pot of pink flowers mysteriously set on my van the following day, well wishes from facebook, cards in the mail, black heels that practically have my name on the label (for a girl who wears out heels faster than any other shoe)-- I feel shy for the attention I received.

I’ve spent much effort on being shy from the Lord too. I hate to admit it. I blush under His gaze. I feel unworthy. I don’t want Him to feel obligated to love me. Anyone else obligated to love me either. I need to be convinced that His love is genuine, and not just once-- everyday. But He is a convincing God, and I have too many love letters from Him to deny His love.

Ephesians 3:17-19

that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

In an earthly sense, it is hard to picture someone looking into my eyes and saying, I want you to be rooted and grounded in my love, I want you to know the width and length and depth of it, and I’m going to spend every day of your life showing it to you, unconditionally, more love than you will ever understand. I’m going to bleed for you. Going to pursue you forever and know everything about you, your heart: it’s dreams and desires, its pains, perfectly. Who loves like that? I don’t. I love like the petals of a flower. I open a little, love a little, and if I’m not hurt, I’ll open a little more, slowly unveiling my heart. But if hurt, I hide. And the petals unfold more hesitantly.

This is not how Jesus loves. He poured out everything. He poured out His life, blood red, painful death giving the deepest, purest love. And love did not die, it came back to life.

1 John 4:18
There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love.

And here it is. My heart quickens because I’ve never been able to stop fearing. And I know that my love will always be imperfect. That is why God doesn’t ask me to give of my love, a cheap vintage, He offers me to spend His, His miracle wine made from water, the best wine that did not run empty. Limitless love. Love, the fiber of who He is, not a trait He possesses. He can be nothing other than love. He asks me to trust Him, and then my faith will unfold petals; let Him come fully in, and pour fully out to others, fearless because His love never disappoints. He still turns water into wine.

A husband embraces his wife, and the child squirms between them. Too often I am the child, oddly finding my place in the demonstration of love, instead of seeing that Christ longs to be the husband, reaching to embrace me. He wants me, I don’t have to push my way in or force anything. The music is playing, His hand is reaching out.

Lord help me to stop fearing love. Help me to pour it to others from Your well that never runs empty. Help me not to run from it, be teased by it, but to let love come. Let it be received. Let it rain down, water the roots. Ground me. Let me believe You Lord, not lies. Let me see with eyes wide open the love You prove everyday—search the heights, the depths, the lengths.

Thank you for the pink flowers which whisper Your love through a friend, thank you for the memory of that meal, the words of love on paper cards, (and the toilet paper birthday card from Esme,) the gift from a kind husband, the calls—thank you for using others. Thank you for loving me the other 364 days too.

Zephaniah 3:17

The LORD your God in your midst,
      The Mighty One, will save;
      He will rejoice over you with gladness,
      He will quiet you with His love,
      He will rejoice over you with singing.