Cover It With Love

Reflections inspired in part by reading Bob Goff’s Love Does.

I have spent a lot of my life demanding a map.

Not just the next turn.

The whole thing.

Where are we going?
What happens after this?
What is the plan?
What am I supposed to do?

But lately I have been wondering if maybe knowing the exact destination isn’t the point.

Maybe direction is enough.

We don’t always know where God is taking us or what the road between here and there will look like. And perhaps that’s a mercy. Because if God handed me the entire itinerary, I might be tempted to run ahead of Him, organize it, improve it, schedule it, worry about it—and quite possibly mess up half of what He was preparing for me along the way.

What I really want is God’s presence.

What If the Plan Is Simpler Than We Think?

People talk a lot about discovering “God’s plan for my life.”

But imagine asking someone you deeply love:

What’s your plan for my life?

If Scott asked me that, I don’t think I would hand him a thirty-page plan.

I’d probably say something more like:

I hope you love deeply.

I hope you use what God has given you.

I hope you know how loved you are.

I hope you pour that love into our family and into the people God places around you.

I hope you become more and more of who God created you to be.

That isn’t a plan.

It’s a direction.

And maybe that’s much closer to what God has been showing us all along.

Jesus continually pointed people toward Himself and then sent them toward people.

Love God.

Love your neighbor.

Forgive.

Serve.

Give.

Welcome.

Feed.

Encourage.

Go.

Maybe finding God’s direction involves bringing together the person He created me to be—the things I love, the gifts He gave me, the people and places that draw my heart—with the things He has already told us matter to Him.

And then walking that way.

I Thought I Needed to Know Everything First

For years, I thought I needed an enormous stack of information before I felt like I would be qualified to do anything for God.

I have taken discipleship courses. I’ve attended Bible studies. I’ve memorized Scripture. I’ve experimented with other people’s prayer routines and quiet times.

I wanted to be able to explain everything. Now I want to be curious about things and admit I am uncertain.  

I love learning about God. I want to know His Word, His character and His ways.

He created us in love, invites us into relationship with Him, and then asks us to carry His love into a world desperately in need of it.

I want to be so captivated by Jesus that talking about Him becomes natural, not because I took the right course, or memorized the right presentation.

Because I know Him.

Because I have experienced His love.

Because He changed me.

We Are Travelers

Scott and I know something about traveling.

We have lived on the water. We have crossed miles of highway. We have changed homes, changed plans, watched horizons move and wondered more than once exactly where we were going next.

Maybe that is why this picture makes sense to me.

Following Jesus feels a little like sailing.

You choose a direction.

Then the wind changes.

A wave comes over the bow.

Something you thought would work doesn’t.

You adjust.

You reset the sails.

You check your bearings.

And you keep moving.

There have been plenty of times I have gotten off course. I imagine there will be plenty more.

But then somehow I find myself back in that place I recognize as grace.

Steady.

Safe.

Warm.

Dry. 

Covered.

Home.

And isn’t that what I want at the end of this entire journey?

To discover that through every adventure, mistake, detour, storm, celebration and ordinary Tuesday, I was making my way Home.

Finding Jesus in My Own Story

Something else has been happening in me lately.

I am looking backward differently.

When I discovered that part of my ancestry was Jewish, I became fascinated by reading Scripture through a different lens. I wanted to understand the Old Testament more deeply. I wanted to understand the culture and history surrounding the stories I had read for years.

And in doing that, I felt like I found Jesus all over again.

Now I am beginning another kind of exploration.

I’m looking for Jesus across the sixty-two years I have already lived.

Where was He?

Where was He protecting me?

Where was He redirecting me?

Where was He carrying me when I didn’t even know enough to recognize His hands?

I can go all the way back to being a little girl in El Dorado Hills, riding a bike on Yellowstone Court when a dog ran out, chased me and bit my ankle.

Looking back now, I can see more than a frightening childhood moment.

I can see protection.

I can see mercy.

I can see Jesus there.

And I have been writing these things down.

The stories.

The people.

The words that shaped me.

The doors that opened.

The doors that closed.

The adventures Scott and I have shared.

The things that went wonderfully.

The things that absolutely did not.

I want to look back across my life and say:

Jesus, I see You now. I love You, too.

Your Story Won’t Look Like Mine

One story cannot possibly fit everyone.

God made us wonderfully individual.

Different personalities.

Different histories.

Different gifts.

Different places that make our hearts come alive.

Different people we are uniquely equipped to love.

There is enormous freedom in realizing that following Jesus does not require everyone to build an identical life.

We get to bring our actual lives to Him.

Our quirks.

Our passions.

Our scars.

Our humor.

Our dreams.

Our adventures.

Our families.

Our neighborhoods.

Our tables.

And then we get to ask:

Jesus, how can I love You and love people right here?

Because so much else in life can disappear.

Homes can be lost.

Money can disappear.

Bodies change.

Plans collapse.

People leave.

Seasons end.

But love is never wasted.

Love can cost us something. Real love usually does.

But it may be the one investment we make on earth that keeps multiplying long after we are gone.

Scripture Wasn’t Given to Us as Ammunition

One thing I feel more strongly about as I get older is that Scripture wasn’t given to us so we could become better at winning arguments.

The Bible should draw us toward God and teach us how to love.

Yet it is incredibly easy to stay at a safe distance from people and have opinions about them.

Opinions are comfortable.

Love requires proximity.

Jesus moved toward people.

He touched people others avoided.

He ate with people others criticized.

He listened.

He welcomed.

He challenged.

He forgave.

And ultimately He gave Himself.

That kind of love gets messy.

It requires something from us.

Maybe We Don’t Need Another Side

I love the story in Joshua 5 when Joshua encounters the commander of the Lord’s army.

Joshua essentially asks him, “Are you for us or for our enemies?”

And the answer is startling:

Neither.

Then Joshua is told that he is standing on holy ground.

I can’t stop thinking about that.

How often do I want God to confirm that He is on my side?

My opinion.

My people.

Perhaps the far more important question is whether I am on God’s side.

What breaks His heart?

Who needs protection?

Who is lonely?

Who is hungry?

Who has been forgotten?

Where is injustice happening?

Where could generosity make a tangible difference?

Scripture repeatedly calls God’s people toward the vulnerable—the widow, the orphan, the poor, the stranger, the oppressed.

That requires more than having the correct opinion.

It requires us to take an action: .

Showing up.

Giving something.

Risking something.

Loving somebody.

Faith Has to Become Personal

I cannot think of Jesus merely as an idea I agree with.

I have to know Him.

Because once you really begin walking with Jesus, you start remembering the details.

The answered prayer.

The strange timing.

The protection you didn’t understand until years later.

The person who showed up exactly when you needed them.

The peace that made absolutely no sense.

The door God closed.

The one He opened.

The moment you should have fallen apart but somehow didn’t.

Jesus becomes unforgettable.

And when something—or Someone—has changed your life, you naturally want to talk about it.

That is the kind of faith I want.

Not borrowed.

Not performed.

Not merely inherited.

A faith that has become my very own love story with Jesus.

A life lived out loud.

Maybe It Happens Over a Pickleball Net

Right now Scott and I are looking for our next neighborhood.

But I don’t think we are simply looking for another house.

We are looking for community.

A place where we can belong.

A place where neighbors know one another again.

A place where people break bread together.

A place where there is room around the table.

Our pastor recently talked about feasting together again, and that image has stayed with me.

Maybe ministry won’t always look like something that happens inside a church building.

Maybe it happens across a dinner table.

Maybe it happens over a pickleball net.

Maybe it happens beside a swimming pool while grandchildren are splashing and adults are laughing.

Maybe it happens walking the neighborhood.

Maybe someone needs a cup of coffee.

Maybe someone needs prayer.

Maybe someone simply needs another human being to notice them.

Perhaps the next chapter isn’t about finding the perfect community.

Maybe it is about asking God:

Where can we become community?

Where can we pull up another chair?

Where can we listen?

Where can we laugh?

Where can we tell the stories of what Jesus has done?

Where can we cover somebody with love?

Because after all my searching for plans and answers and destinations, I am beginning to wonder whether following Jesus might be beautifully simpler than I’ve sometimes made it.

Keep moving toward Him.

Pay attention.

Love the people He puts in front of you.

When you get off course, turn back toward grace.

And wherever you find yourself—

love God,

love people,

and let your life tell the story.

Because maybe we don’t need to know every mile of the road ahead.

Maybe knowing the direction really is enough.