the house that love built

a memo of love — from Him to you

I am so young.

I joke about being old because I’m a 5th year senior, who will have to begrudgingly take a 6th year, and I recently turned 22 years old a few weeks ago.

As quickly as I see myself progressing through time and life with a quickness, I still have so much of life left. Yet, I feel like my experiences have stretched out the understanding of my life past any construct of time that I can reasonably comprehend.

Throughout high school and the first 3 years of college, I struggled so sustainably with depression. I had become skilled at covering tears and sunken eyes with remnants of a darkened veil. I nurtured the malady like it was a battle scar that I had proudly and justly cut, in a war that was not mine to fight. I arrived at a place where no one would ever be able to adjust their lens, ever so slightly, and see me in this hole that I told myself I belonged in.

I effortlessly understand these years as the worst years of my living. In these many moments, I feel like time moved like cold molasses. I couldn’t see the end that justified any means by which I was constantly suffering.

In some moments, I would find myself heavily sinking into the carpets of whatever house or apartment I was hulled up in for that year. I would sink and watch tears, chasing after each other in single-file lines over the hills of my cheek bones and leaping from the sharp cliff of my mandible.

There were countless times when I thought there was nothing for me to live for, but there was only one time when I realized that there was more for which I could live.


This was the time when I realized my God was the God of love; when I realized that I didn’t have to run from Him or be ashamed of anything that I thought He might disprove of; when I realized that my feeling broken and hurt, for what I thought would last evermore, was not unheard of or strange; when I realized that even though I cursed my Father’s name, wrongly blamed Him for placing me into a hole of darkness that suffocated my every being, He still stood by me when I didn’t wish to see Him.

The time when I understood that I could do more than just exist, that I could do more than simply live in this world of bereft that I, and every other tortured soul, was born into — when I realized that I could love through the Father — was the first and only time when I was made whole.

As I leaned in close, His arms warmly knit around me, I listened to Him tell me that His love was all there was, is, and will be. I listened to Him say to me that His love was the first and only thing that I would ever need, and that the rest would follow.

I heard my Abba Father tell me that my being ripped open was not what He wanted, but that He would sew me up anyways.

He tells me,

And above all, tell your brothers and sisters that I love them and have always loved them. No matter what they say, do, or think, let them know that I will cradle their hearts, even if they do not call upon or lift up My name.

“Tell them that I have given the life of my very right-hand, my very own Son, so that they may draw nearer to me. Tell them that Jesus knows — he knows the soreness you feel and the wasteland you trek through. He took that to the grave, in flesh and blood, and rose from the dead, fully alive, with something new, light, beautiful. He took away all of the pain that the sins of evil has brought upon the perfect world that I molded for you, and he came back with forgiveness; he came back with mercy; he comes back with grace.

Above all, tell them that I love them and that I will do the rest”.


My God did not find fault in me and he does not find fault in you. He finds love in us, amidst the torment, and offers it to us in the hands of His unconditional spirit.

I was in a void that I thought I belonged to, until I accepted the gift of His forgiveness. Until I understood that God had been seeking me as I am and as I come to Him, I realized that the lacerations that covered my mind and body were incomparable to His love.

God has not asked me to give anyone anger; He has not asked me to give them judgment or condemnation; He has not asked me to give them bewilderment, because my God is not the author of confusion; He has not asked me to give them any tool which will not be useful in the hearts of the righteous.

The only tool that may offer bread to our hearts is God’s love.

I am young, and know so little, but I know this: once I seek the Father as He has sought after me, my only job, as a Christian, is to offer love to others through the love of Christ. God will take the rest.

He will lead those, lost, lonesome, and listless, to the house that love built.