Being His.

Valentine's day is just around the corner.

And Love is in the air.

Love IS the air I breathe.

It fills my lungs, lingers in my senses, reminding me that I am loved.

Deeply.

Divinely.

By a Savior who is the very definition of love.

It's written on His hands.

My name.

Tattooed on nail scarred palms.

It's in the shape of a cross,  the gentle breath of grace, my hiding place.

I am loved.

Extravagantly.

Fanatically.

So my Jesus tells me.

In love letters He writes me when I'm still enough to listen.

In sweet serenades from chickadees and little lilting voices.

Warm blankets and tender looks.

And my love for him?

So meager.

Meted out in half-finished devotions.

Exhausted metaphors.

A half-lit flame I'm ashamed to have let sputter.

Jesus-whispers fill my soul, "Be Mine."

"I am already yours."

My heart longs to answer.

Throw blazing logs of love on this fire.

Let the desire of heaven spark my own.
Turn these cold ashes into burning embers.
Jesus is waiting.

(If you visited this page and there was no picture:  my little ones published this post before it was finished!  LoL.)