There are some things in life that cannot be explained from the outside.
You can describe them.
You can talk about them.
You can try to put words around them.
But unless someone has stood in that place, they may never fully understand the weight of it.
This morning, I was thinking about love.
Not the soft, greeting-card version of love. Not the kind that sounds nice in a song but disappears when life gets heavy.
I mean the kind of love that costs something.
The kind of love that shows up again even after heartbreak.
The kind of love that says, “Even knowing the pain, I would still choose the gift.”
The kind of love that keeps trusting God when the story does not unfold the way you prayed it would.
I was listening to K-LOVE on the way to work, and the song was about how deep the love of Jesus is for us. The thought hit me hard: Christ’s love was not casual. It was not convenient. It was not distant. His love was willing to suffer.
Not because His sacrifice was incomplete, but because His love is complete.
And it made me think about my daughter, Hailey.
When my wife told me she was pregnant with her, joy hit me like a ton of bricks. I remember falling back into the recliner with tears in my eyes. It was pure joy. The kind of joy that makes you feel like a child again.
Honestly, I had not felt something like that since I was a little boy believing in Santa, walking downstairs and seeing the presents waiting there.
That kind of wonder came rushing back.
That was the gift she gave me.
Hailey only got to be with us for a short time outside the womb. And losing her was the hardest thing I have ever walked through. Speaking at my daughter’s funeral. Carrying her casket to her grave. There are no words big enough for that.
But here is the thing I still believe:
I would not erase the love to avoid the pain.
I would do it all again to know her.
I would do it all again to feel that joy.
I would do it all again because love is still worth it.
That may sound strange to someone who has never carried grief in one hand and gratitude in the other. But some love is so sacred that even sorrow cannot make you regret it.
And maybe that is one of the deepest pictures we get of God’s heart.
Love does not mean life will never hurt.
Love does not mean we will understand every chapter.
Love does not mean we will never stand beside a grave with questions in our chest.
But love means the story is still worth living.
After Hailey, God blessed us with that same kind of love three more times through our sons. And even with the fear, even with the memory of loss, even with the risk, we opened our hearts again.
That is what love does.
It risks again.
It hopes again.
It receives again.
It keeps the door open.
Some days now, I still feel overwhelmed. Bills, responsibilities, work, family, pressure, decisions, and the weight of trying to provide can all stack up fast. A man can start carrying tomorrow before he has even finished today.
But then I remember:
The hardest thing I ever had to do was not a work problem.
It was not a financial problem.
It was not a schedule problem.
It was not a house problem.
The hardest thing I ever had to do was bury my daughter.
And God was still there.
He did not leave me.
He did not stop loving me.
He did not waste her life.
He did not abandon my family.
So when worry tries to take over, I have to remind my soul: God has already carried me through deeper waters than this.
Jesus said not to worry about life, because the Father knows what we need. That is not permission to be careless. It is an invitation to stop pretending we are the source.
I am not the source.
My job is not the source.
My money is not the source.
My plans are not the source.
My strength is not the source.
God is.
And if God could hold me through grief, He can hold me through pressure.
If God could give love after loss, He can give peace after worry.
If God could bring joy into our home again, He can lead us through whatever is in front of us now.
This morning also reminded me that love is supposed to be the mark of those who follow Jesus. Not just preaching. Not just knowledge. Not just big words or strong opinions.
Love.
“By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”
— John 13:35
That kind of love is not weak.
It takes strength to love after loss.
It takes strength to stay gentle when life has made you tired.
It takes strength to keep your heart open when grief gave you every excuse to shut it down.
That is meekness.
Strength under control.
Not weakness. Not passivity. Not pretending pain does not exist.
Meekness is when a man has been through fire, but he does not let the fire turn him cruel.
That is the kind of man I want to become.
A man who loves well.
A man who trusts God deeply.
A man who does not let worry run his home.
A man who remembers that life is precious, people are rare, and relationships matter more than most of the things we stress over.
Because when you find someone wonderful, you take care of them.
When God gives you a wife, out-love her each day.
When God gives you children, be present with them.
When God gives you people to serve, do not treat them as interruptions.
When God gives you another day, do not waste it carrying fear He never asked you to carry alone.
I do not understand everything God allows.
I will not pretend I do.
But I still trust Him.
I still believe He is good.
I still believe He has plans of peace and not evil.
I still believe His favor rests on His children.
I still believe love is worth the risk.
I still believe the grave does not get the final word.
And I still believe this:
The Lord works in mysterious ways, but He does not work without love.
So today, I lay down the worry again.
I thank God for my wife.
I thank God for my children.
I thank God for Hailey.
I thank God for the lessons I would have never chosen but would never trade.
I thank God for carrying me when I did not know how to carry myself.
And I ask Him to keep making me into a man who loves like Christ.
Not perfectly.
But truly.
Built by grace.
Forged by the Father.