A Love That Trumps Them All

If I were to ask you to imagine the greatest love story ever told, what would you come up with? Which direction would your mind go? Would you think of star-crossed lovers who eventually meet in some grandiose way? Perhaps you’d imagine a sweet couple who have been married for 65 years. Just a few weeks ago, I came across an engagement photo on Instagram in which the bride-to-be was proposed to under the Northern Lights and I thought to myself, “Well, that’d certainly be nice! Lucky her!”. It should go without saying that a great love story can mean different things to different people.

I have always been in either a relationship or—as Jada Pinkett Smith famously coined—entanglement ever since I was a teenager; there haven’t been many long seasons in which I didn’t have a man on my arm. (While I wish that wasn’t the case for different reasons, I do believe everything in life that happens either of our own foolish volitions or just the way life goes, is always for a much greater purpose). In those relationships, Valentine’s Day always served as the perfect excuse to splurge on lingerie and other “spicy” items.

I didn’t know this at the time, but ultimately I was trying to earn love in ways that weren’t appropriate. You may ask how wearing lingerie for your boyfriend is inappropriate, and the answer to that is, I shouldn’t have felt the need to put on a performance of sorts (“putting on” the sexy character) for someone I wasn’t married to. You may now be wondering why it matters that those boyfriends were simply that and not my husband, and the answer to that is, in the long run I was wasting my time trying to impress someone that wasn’t even fully committed to me.

There was no ring on my finger, there were no actions that actually bore the fruit of the words said to me (you can’t profess your undying love for someone in one breath while you habitually contradict those claims in the next), there was no genuine love. I can only say that now, though, in hindsight because I know what love is…now.

Think about the person closest to you. That person could be your spouse, your mom or dad, your childhood best friend, whomever. Do they know your deepest, darkest secret, the thing you are most ashamed of? Would you be able to tell the person closest to you the thing that you’ve kept hidden for years out of fear you’ll be judged? Would they not judge you? Would they still talk to you, still consider you a friend, still love you? Or would they tell you—in much more colorful language—to take a hike and then block your number?

I’ve hurt a lot of people in my life in deceptive ways, sad to say, and I was always afraid to confess to them for the sheer reason that I knew they’d abandon me. I came to them with my tail between my legs expecting the worst reaction, and the worst reaction always came. Now, don’t misunderstand me; that’s not to say that their reactions were uncalled for (I can only think of one instance where my “punishment” didn’t quite fit my “crime”, but all the others were understandably justified). Hurt people hurt people, and I understand that. Broken people hurt people, too, and I was an extremely broken person when I did the things I’m not proud of.

It wasn’t until October of 2024 that I met someone who I could go to in my guilt and shame. Actually, it’s more accurate to say that I was re-acquainted with this person because I’ve known him—albeit on somewhat of a surface level—for years. What astonishes me about this man is that I’ve hurt him more than I’ve hurt anyone else, I’ve broken his heart more than all the other broken hearts combined, and yet he’s never shunned me. I can go to him with my head down and I find that after I confess everything to him, I feel lighter, I don’t feel condemned. I’m not afraid to be vulnerable with him in the first place; I’m so relaxed around him and I don’t have to force myself to act a certain way like I’ve had to do around men from my past. I’m always brutally honest with him which I never was in previous relationships, in fact I lied so much that it became my identity. Lying wasn’t just something I did from time to time, it’s who I was, and a good one at that. For some reason, now I don’t feel the need to lie when I’m around this man; he actually stirs me to be better in terms of honesty and has stopped me dead in my tracks a few times, making me “reverse” when I’ve been tempted to bend the truth.

Our time together is so sweet, too. I never feel anxious or stressed out whenever I’m in his presence…that’s actually when I experience the most peace, and the peace itself is glorious. I remember how I felt in a relationship that lasted 5 years: scared of the next emotional outburst, anxious to do whatever pleased my then-boyfriend—ironically enough what pleased him degraded me—constantly walking on eggshells and living with a cloud of distrust looming over my head. Not fun, and unfortunately a lot of the feelings I experienced in that relationship worsened in the relationship after that one. Needless to say (though I’m certainly happy to say it!), the man that I’m in a relationship with now is unlike any of my other previous boyfriends. He’s gentle, protective, sweet, kind, and his motives are pure. His love for me doesn’t waver, it’s not a situational rollercoaster (“That was a good sex session, you’re the best”, “We’ve been fighting too much, I think we should break up”, “You look hot today, I love you”, “We’re not on the same page about this, I’m leaving”). He’s not looking to use me for his own gain…he just wants my heart. Since giving it to him, he’s been ever so tender with it. For the first time in my life (including childhood), I feel sincerely cherished and seen by a man.

If you were to ask me to imagine the greatest love story ever told, I would point to the man I’m in a relationship with now. I could never have imagined it, for he far exceeds any idea of love I’ve ever had or could ever conjure up. He is the embodiment of love. He doesn’t just love, He is love. He may not have gotten on his knee under the Northern Lights, but he went even further: he went to a cross and purchased me with his own blood. Talk about commitment! The love story that trumps all the rest, and I didn’t have to do a single thing to earn that love. In fact, I couldn’t. This man of mine, His name is

J e s u s.