love, as I’ve learned it | the matters of you and I, part 2

I’m no heart doctor,

but I know mine.

The kind of love that blooms in gardens—

where deception dies

and truth finally breathes.

Where the apple isn’t picked,

isn’t passed,

isn’t offered.

Not because I’m better,

but because I was made to help.

To protect.

To cover.

To guard the promise—

not corrupt it.

But who am I?

I won’t feed you

what was never mine to give.

I won’t be the reason you fall.

I want to be the place where you rise.

I’m no Jesus.

But the mission is to walk beside Him.

To love like Him—

not perfectly,

but intentionally.

The kind of love that is patient.

That is kind.

That does not envy.

That does not boast.

That is not proud.

The kind that whispers,

“You’ve got this,”

on your hardest day.

Seems this world got it twisted.

We crave things that look good

but leave us empty.

We chase the noise

and forget the need.

We want the flowers,

but forget to thank the Gardener.

But honestly—

I could run away with you.

Disappear into the woods

where the world couldn’t find us.

Because all I really need

is Jesus—

and the hands

of the one

who rests in mine.

I don’t want

the picture-perfect love

built for timelines

and comment sections.

I want the 1 Corinthians kind.

The rooted-in-His-heart kind.

The hold-each-other’s-hand

while we both grow kind.

The forgive.

The endure.

The believe.

The unspoken-word-finally-spoken kind.

I’m not the healer,

but I know the One who is.

And every time I pray,

I don’t just pray for you—

I pray for your family.

For your health.

For your peace.

And yes—

your seatbelt too.

Because I care about your safety

more than your thrill.

When I look at you,

I don’t see a man

meant to fill the space beside me.

I don’t see someone

to meet my every whim and wham.

I see a soul

on assignment.

A calling still unfolding.

A life still becoming.

I’m no theologian,

but I know

what love feels like

when it’s holy.