I’m not a poet and have only recently come to enjoy the psalms, but as I sat down to journal a few weeks ago these words filled the pages of my entry.
My love fails, to keep me whole and holy.
Your love is unfailing, loving as if I’m your one and only.
My love comes in small amounts, scratching the surface of others’ thirst.
Your love is lavish, without end and always first.
My love is timid, and reserved.
Your love is extravagant, and unheard of.
My love is neat and tidy, never spilling over onto anyone.
Your love is messy and wild, the wastefully abundant one.
My love is plain, and unimaginative.
Your love is wondrous, and creative.
My love is picky, and discriminating.
Your love is indiscriminate, and incriminating.
My love is limited, bound by time, space and selfishness.
Your love is boundless, free, unlimited and selfless.
My love is conditional, upon who you are and what you’re worth.
Your love is unconditional, you sent your only Son to earth.
You are love.
I am loved.