The room was full. The table was set. Everything appeared to be in order. Guests were seated, conversation was polite, and the evening unfolded just as it should. It looked like hospitality done well.

Then a woman entered the room.

She did not arrive with an invitation or an explanation. She came carrying a small jar of perfume and a story everyone already knew. Without speaking, she knelt at Jesus’ feet. Tears fell. Oil was poured out. The room grew quiet as devotion disrupted what had been carefully arranged.

Moments like this linger because they reveal something deeper than the scene itself. They stay with us, quietly reshaping how we understand love, mercy, and the way God draws near.

Some truths take time to settle into us. They circle quietly through our days, often born in moments we did not plan for. A conversation that stays with us. A memory that rises without warning. A sense that God has been near all along, even when we were busy or unsure.

Love is one of those truths.

We talk about love often. We search for it, measure it, hope it holds. Yet when life stretches us or disappoints us, love can feel harder to name. Our experiences shape how we see God. Over time, we begin to carry an image of Him formed by joy, loss, answered prayers, and long silences. All of it becomes a lens.

Scripture offers a steady invitation here. When questions rise about who God is and how He loves, the answer keeps returning to the same place. The cross. This is where love is made visible. This is where it takes shape in a way we can trust.

Jesus speaks plainly about it. Love is revealed through self giving, through presence, through a life laid down freely. It is not abstract or distant. It is embodied. Seen. Offered.

This kind of love reshapes how we respond. Jesus names it clearly when He says that loving God with heart, soul, mind, and strength sits at the center of everything. Love flows outward too, touching how we see and treat the people around us. These words are familiar, yet they continue to invite us into attentiveness. Into alignment. Into a life that grows from worship rather than effort.

Love begins with seeing God rightly.

Before we act, before we speak, before we serve, there is an invitation to notice who He is. To listen. To allow love to take root beneath the surface. When love flows from that place, it carries a quiet strength. It shapes desire, thought, and movement without force.

The stories of Jesus show us this again and again.

Martha opens her home with care and energy. Mary chooses to sit close, attentive and still. Both gestures matter. Yet Jesus gently affirms presence. Attention. A willingness to pause and receive. Love grows where space is made for it.

At that table, two responses sit side by side. One keeps control. The other releases it. One manages the moment. The other pours everything out. Jesus receives the offering shaped by trust and surrender.

Love always responds to revelation.

When we sense how deeply God has drawn near, something shifts within us. Control loosens. Performance quiets. Love becomes less about managing the moment and more about surrendering to presence.

This is love. A life oriented toward Jesus. Attention given freely. Trust growing slowly. Hearts softened by grace.

Where might God be inviting you to linger a little longer?

What might shift if love was received before it was expressed?

Where do you notice Jesus already present, waiting to be welcomed without agenda?

Love does not rush. It does not demand perfection. It invites us to come as we are and remain open. In that space, something gentle and steady forms. A love shaped by the cross. A love that continues to meet us right where we are.