I wish there was a better way to love, one that involved a lot less of me and a lot more of Him.
Unfortunately, however, I can’t help but want to meddle and interfere.
I’m like the villain in every movie that wants to stop true loves kiss.
I’m the interrupting family member in every book who calls for supper at the most inopportune moment.
But mainly, I’m the jealous one.
The one so desperate for affection and attention that I forget its not about me but its all about Him;
so full of pride that I have the audacity to believe my love would do any good, when in truth it would only cause suffocation.
Oh the hilarity of it all, that in my love to love for Him it becomes all about me and I forget…
I forget that there is no love in me, it only comes through me.
I forget the tragedies befall those whom I choose to wrap in the thorny tendrils of my best-intentions instead of clothing them in the satins of grace and mercy.
What a mess I’ve made of myself, although unintentional the sabotage, I’ve muddied white dresses and lost the rings; such is the tale of a villainous love.
But the best stories always have redemption for the villains and I’m slowly finding mine.