It was peak holiday mayhem, when I found myself at the mall Christmas shopping with my mother one afternoon. This year, in particular, I examined her closely and noticed her fragile yet ever so efficient effort in sifting through various hangers of clothes. Through determination and collectedness, she quickly inspected racks and shelves for items she felt were worthy of gifting to those she loved.

Not one to rewrite what has worked for decades, my mother vehemently avoided online shopping. So much so, shopping in-person took on its own form of tradition after so many years. In fact, if I recall correctly, this tradition founded itself early on in my childhood.

Memories of going from store to store, could easily turn my stomach and induce nausea. I am not much of a shopper, I must admit. Five minutes in the store and I am ready to exit. More on that, in a later post.

However, it was not until this recent experience and intentional inspection on my end, that I was able to appreciate the beauty of my mother’s effort and heart.

Overall, the beauty of a mother’s love.

As I stood there admiring my mother’s dedication to this craft, tears began to swell my eyes. At this moment, flashbacks of how frustrating the monotony of waiting in long lines and times came to mind. I then realized how I allowed frustration to rob the beauty of this mother-daugher bonding for years of my life.

Caught in this moment of epiphany, I looked at my mom and told her, “I love you mom, and I love you more at that!”

This expression of love brought her to a sudden halt. She stared intensely, yet warmly at me as she reached to hold my forearm. She then softly murmured as she firmly gripped me,

“No…Actually, I really do love you more.”

This moment stood still as I felt my chest wanting to explode into a child-like cry; that cry that resembles more of a weep with intermittent attempts at gasps for air.

The sheer truth of this statement stabbed my heart. She was right. I could remember in a moment, all the ways I had failed her throughout my life-yet her love remained consistent. Imperfect love…but consistent. In her way… in her sacrificial effort…her love remained consistent.

Yet… not so much my own.

I definitely had a rebellious adolescent-stage riddled by a hardened heart. But her love, though again far from perfect, was perfect enough for me.

---

An even deeper truth pierced me at this point…

How vast and great the love of God must be.

If my mother’s love was a blink expression of HIS love, I could only imagine the extent and greatness of the LORD’s love for me.

Through this imperfect, perfect instance, I witnessed a touch of heaven.

Her heart painted a mere shadow of HIS heart.

HIS love was so perfect despite my failures.

HIS love pursued me relentlessly to return to him.

HIS love never gave up.

HIS love chased me when I pushed him away.

Yes, that was HIS love.

Don’t you hunger for this particular love? A love that sees you, values you, knows you deeply? One that does not relent in wanting you but pursues you gently, until one day you say, “Yes LORD”.

A love so real it brings you to the end of yourself, full of conviction.

Nothing compares to this love. There is an empty hole in your soul because it craves for it since it was designed exclusively to have it.

So dear reader, what are you waiting for if you do not know him? He waits and knocks.

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”-Revelation 3:20

God bless.