My Father's Love

I am loved beyond comprehension, beyond thought, beyond belief. What are my parents? Love. Love to me. They love that I might “more lovely be.” What have they done? Loved. They show the Father's love to me. And how would I know the Father if I had not known them? He is Father. He gives fathers that we might know the love of the true Father. This is why I have parents, this is why they have me. Love.

My parents are budget-blown lovers; they love me more than the price tag attached to my life. I cost them dearly, but they rejoice to pay the price. I was born, and that was costly. My mother gave of her life to give me life; not a mere sacrifice. My father has forever paid the bills, worked the nights, loved me through his deeds. Who could count the costs? I don't want to know. Grade school, middle school, high school, college, doctors visits, dentist visits, clothes, food... I do know a little. I've seen the doctor's bill. My life is expensive. My brain, alone, is more than I could pay for, and just one of those doctor's visits breaks my bank. I'm too expensive for a luxury. I'm too expensive for anything but love and sacrifice. But who would sacrifice so beyond reason? What is this wild love?

This is the love of God. He is a wild lover. His care and protection go beyond all human love. We try to see, we try to know, but how can we? His love is past finding out. He plans every detail to perfection, and every detail is always right. His love is right. It is not right because I want it, it is right because He sees the whole love story. He knows me from beginning to end, and cares to the point of triviality.

Man would think it disgraceful to love so much, so extravagantly, but God's love is not ashamed of spending itself where it is undeserved, or where it seems unneeded. He delights to see me delight in His world. His world is for my delight. He wants me to love the sparrow. He wants me to delight in its chirping. He plans for the sparrow to be in that tree, over there across the street, and all just so that I can hear him on the way to school. He plans for the mud, soggy shoes, the rain, and my wet hair. These are the insanities of love. He plans for tumors, for cancer, for life and death. But even these are the insanities of love. His love story is perfect. He can't stop thinking about His beloved, planning every detail and laying it all out perfectly. And unlike human love, how unobsessive this makes the beloved. Oh, who am I to receive this love? What have I to glory in? Nothing. I don't understand His love. He spends it freely, lavishly, without any reason. It breaks all haughty spirits. What have I done to deserve this? Love's beauty breaks me. It makes my soul rejoice.

What is love? This is love. Material, tangible, obsessive. He fills my closet with clothes. This is love. What? Love. Unneeded, unnecessary, unexplainable. Love. He fills my mouth with milk and honey, bread and wine. This is love. This is reckless, this is love that would break the budget of any father, any lover; it leaps over chasms, it closes gaps, it knows no bounds. Unbounded and overflowing, His love, that we might more lovely be.