
My heart is heavy, but full. I’ve been sitting with Psalm 138:8 all morning:
“The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O LORD, endures forever.”
It hit me like a wave. God’s love endures forever—even when mine wavers, even when I don’t understand, even when I feel like I’ve messed up beyond redemption. His love remains. Unshaken. Unfailing. Unconditional.
I don’t know why, but lately, I’ve been questioning it—not with my mouth, but in the deepest corners of my heart. I still sing, “Jesus loves me, this I know,” but sometimes it feels like I’m just mouthing the words. Why is it so easy to say God loves us and yet so hard to believe it when life caves in?
Let’s be real. People don’t like to talk about doubt. Especially Christian women. We’re supposed to be pillars of faith, right? Sweet, smiling, always believing. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t wrestle. I’m a warrior of faith, yes, but I’m also a human woman with battle scars. Faith doesn’t mean I don’t question—it means I bring my questions to the throne.

And this week, I asked God why. Why I still wrestle to believe He loves me when I already know so many Scriptures, when I serve in my church, when I try to do what’s right. And He answered me in that quiet whisper that cuts through all the noise:
“Daughter, you’re trying to feel My love through your circumstances, not through My covenant.”
Whew.

God reminded me that His love isn’t proven by my painlessness. That’s where we go wrong. We believe this lie: “If God really loves me, He won’t let me suffer.” But Jesus never said that. In fact, He promised the opposite:
“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” — John 16:33
If Jesus—God in the flesh—wasn’t exempt from suffering, why do I think I should be? I’ve been holding God to a promise He never made. He didn’t promise ease. He promised presence. He didn’t promise comfort; He promised Christ-likeness.
And it wrecks me to realize how often I’ve measured His love by my pain level. As if tears mean abandonment. As if suffering equals distance. But in truth, the pain draws me closer to His heart. I’ve felt Him in the valley more vividly than I ever did on the mountaintop.
But here’s another lie I’ve battled:
“I don’t deserve God’s love.”
I’ve failed too many times. I’ve said things I shouldn’t. I’ve judged. I’ve envied. I’ve sinned. And in those moments, I tell myself I need to “earn” my way back into His grace. But that’s not the gospel. That’s religion. That’s performance. That’s pride wearing a mask.
The truth is this:

“We are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.” — Romans 8:17
We are already loved. Not because of our “good days,” but because of grace. His love isn’t a reward; it’s a reality. A relentless one. A reckless one, even, if I can say that. It runs to me when I’m still a mess. It wraps me up when I feel dirty. It whispers, “You’re Mine,” even when I don’t recognize myself.
But maybe the hardest part is this:
“I don’t feel God’s love.”
And you know what? That’s okay. Feelings are not the thermostat of faith. They shift with sleep, hormones, the weather, a comment someone made on Instagram. My feelings don’t define truth. The Word does.

“But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him.” — Psalm 103:17
Everlasting. That’s not based on feelings. That’s based on who God is.
So if my heart feels numb or dry or disconnected, I’m learning not to panic. I’m learning to tune it. Just like a radio needs the right frequency to catch the music, my heart needs the right focus to catch His voice.
That’s what fearing the LORD and obeying His commandments does—it doesn’t earn His love; it aligns me with it. It clears the static. It sharpens my spiritual senses so I can receive what’s already being poured out.
So today, I prayed a bold, honest, slightly messy prayer. Maybe someone reading this needs to pray it too:

Dear God,
I believe Your love endures forever. But some days, I forget what that even means.
I’ve tried to measure Your love by the good things in my life—and I’m sorry.
I’ve doubted when things got hard.
I’ve run from You when I felt unworthy.
I’ve leaned on feelings instead of faith.
But today, I choose to trust Your Word over my emotions.
Tune my heart to receive Your love.
Break down the walls I’ve built in pain.
Teach me how to fear You rightly—not with terror, but with trembling reverence and wild trust.
Your love is not weak. It’s not small. It’s not moody.
It’s forever. It’s fierce. It’s mine.
And I love You for it. Always and forever.
Amen.

I don’t know who needs this, but maybe you’re like me—compassionate but tired, faithful but frustrated, loved but struggling to believe it. I want to remind you:
You are not beyond His reach. His love is not fragile. His purpose will be fulfilled in your life.
So hold tight. Keep trusting. Keep tuning your heart.
He’s not finished with you yet.








