How Many Times Has He Loved Me

We are not perfect. It seems so often that I fail. How many times will Jesus forgive me? Distractions pull my attention. Worries crowd my mind. A thousand cheap pleasures dull my affections for God. A besetting sin asks for just one more rendezvous before sinking its teeth in deeper, and when I come to myself I wonder, Will he forgive me again?

When I look to him for an answer, the stinging and throbbing of my self-inflicted wounds begins to fade. His face is kind, not severe. As his hands reach out to bandage me, I see my name engraved on them. Expressions of love carved into stone will erode over the centuries, but scars on everlasting hands never fade. Before I can utter another word, he says, “I will never leave you.”

As often as I have failed, he has loved me. He lifts me from the dust. He holds my hand and shows me how to walk again. He leads me to a well of living water. He reminds me the sweet sound of his voice, so that I do not follow the sound of another. He welcomes me into his presence and entrusts himself into mine, entering my heart to break bread together.

When I cry out for help, he never responds with a sigh. As often as he finds me in need, his inmost parts churn with compassion as he runs to me. With ever-fresh strength, he steps into the mire to rescue me. He flings away the sin that clings so closely so that I may cling more closely to him.

He has been my sweetest friend. No one else has sacrificed so much. No one else has welcomed me back so many times. No one else has known the depth of my depravity, and yet no one has loved me so deeply. No one has been so unwavering in affection.

Time and time again, he has proved to be an eternal spring of mercy. During the darkest of nights, when I fall to my knees in repentance, his sun rises over me like the dawn. And the light is changing me. Every time he forgives me, I love him more, and I hate the wretchedness left in me. That’s what his love does—it changes you.

He has loved us more often than we know.