“The Love Letter We Keep Forgetting to Read”

If Jesus wrote us a love letter, I wonder how many of us would even recognize it.

We live in a world filled with noise — alerts, reminders, comment sections, headlines, arguments. We're bombarded by messages telling us we're not enough, that we need to do more, be more, prove more. Somewhere in the chaos, we forget that the most important message has already been written. And it was never trending — it was timeless.

It starts at creation, when God breathed life into us and said, “It is good.”
It peaks at the cross, when Jesus looked out at a broken world and said, “It is finished.”
And it continues every single day, when grace shows up at our door like a letter we never earned but always needed.

Jesus’s love letter to us isn’t polished in gold ink or written on parchment. It’s written in nail scars.
In tears at a tomb.
In forgiveness spoken from a cross.
In empty tombs and broken chains.
In ordinary moments where grace whispers, “You’re still mine.”

His letter doesn’t say, “Clean up before you come to me.”
It says, “Come to me, all who are weary.”

It doesn’t say, “Be perfect.”
It says, “My grace is sufficient for you.”

It doesn’t say, “You’re too far gone.”
It says, “Nothing can separate you from My love.”

And maybe we need to be reminded of that.

Because some of us are carrying guilt like it’s our name.
Some of us are performing for approval we already have.
Some of us are hiding, convinced we’re too messy to be loved.
Some of us have memorized every rejection letter the world has sent us, but we’ve never sat still long enough to read the one that says, “You are chosen.”

Jesus’s love letter is not about performance.
It’s not a list of demands.
It’s not about shame, or fear, or jumping through hoops.

It’s about love.
Steady, relentless, undeserved love.

It’s the kind of love that doesn’t flinch at our failures.
The kind that welcomes the prodigal, embraces the doubter, and washes the feet of the betrayer.
It’s the kind that looks us in the eye and says, “Even now — I choose you.”

So maybe today’s the day to stop scrolling and start sitting in that truth.
Maybe today’s the day to open the letter we keep forgetting to read.
Maybe it’s time to stop asking, “Does God really love me?” — and start receiving the answer that’s been written across history, across scripture, and across the scars of a Savior:

Yes. Always. Forever.