LOVE THAT WILL NOT LET GO

Sometimes our hearts tremble beneath the weight of questions—questions about God’s character, His sovereignty, His justice, His compassion. We read strong words in Scripture about His choosing, His calling, His purposes that stand forever; yet we also hear the tender invitation that whispers through every page: “Whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely” (Revelation 22:17). And somewhere between sovereignty and invitation, between divine power and human response, we wonder, “What kind of love is this?”

In the quiet place of prayer, the Lord answers not with a chart of doctrines but with Himself. The cross stands before us—bloody, wooden, unyielding—and on it hangs the Son who loved the world, not theoretically, not selectively, but sacrificially. The apostle Peter said that God is “not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). Paul declared that Christ “gave Himself a ransom for all” (1 Timothy 2:6). And John, the beloved disciple, wrote with simple wonder, “We love Him because He first loved us” (1 John 4:19). These are not arguments—they are heartbeats.

We do not explain God’s love; we experience it. And when other voices try to define that love in ways that make Him seem distant, cold, or selective, we return to Calvary. There, love is not locked away behind decrees; it pours down like living water. There, grace does not trickle into the world; it flows like a mighty river. There, the Savior does not call a few by name; He spreads His arms wide and says, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden” (Matthew 11:28). Whatever mysteries remain—and there are many—the cross makes one thing unmistakably clear: His heart is open wider than our understanding.

So let your soul rest tonight in the God who loves without hesitation, who invites without reservation, who saves without limitation. The One who reigns also weeps; the One who chooses also calls; the One who ordains also opens the door to all who will step through.

Divine sovereignty is not the enemy of divine compassion—it is the throne from which compassion flows. And the One seated upon that throne is the same Jesus who sought the lost, welcomed the broken, and promised that none who come to Him would ever be cast out.

Lord Jesus, draw my heart again to the wideness of Your love. Where mystery confuses me, let Your mercy steady me; where questions trouble me, let Your cross assure me. Teach me to trust Your heart even when I cannot trace Your ways, and let the warmth of Your invitation rest upon my soul. Amen.

BDD