You. Are. Loved.

Oct 09 2025 You. Are. Loved.

I sat on the edge of my bed and stared blankly towards the moonless sky outside my bedroom window. For two weeks, I lay awake with jittery sensations in the center of my body. It grew worse each night as the familiar twins, depression and anxiety, washed back into my life.

My nervous system was failing me again.

As I sank into the dark hole I knew so well, the lamenting began as a storm brewed inside, and I started questioning God’s love yet again. Questioning Him about almost every detail of my life.

The language of lament began in my childhood. It was a way to connect freely with God in stormy seasons of melancholy and confusion when I could only offer raw thoughts, deep and seemingly unanswerable questions, and anger.

But somewhere along the path, this shifted. It wasn’t okay anymore. Certain messages permeated my faith, and I came to understand that joy and cheerfulness are hallmarks of a Christian. That I should live with an attitude of gratitude, thankful for every blessed thing.

God is love, don’t you know? Find your worth and find His affection by serving, doing, and pleasing.

And that is what I did. I would never have said that God valued me only when I was “doing,” but somehow I swallowed this notion, which seeped in thoroughly. At the end of the day, I evaluated myself and the number of things I accomplished on my “to-do” list.

I kept a running tally in my gratitude journal.

And I felt God’s favor.

Until I didn’t.

Waves of mental unhealth and brutal melancholy rode in. Anguish spilled over as devastation and trauma crashed into the neat sand around me. Seasons where I could not perfectly perform because my soul was empty, and my body bereft.

Here, I wanted nothing to do with my thankful journal or the facade of the cheerful Christian. I returned to the language of lament, where I laid bare before God and laid down my to-do list.

As I looked out my window that night, a slow knowing began in my spirit, like the tide edging up the beach. A warmth flooded my soul, and in that moment of grief, I grabbed my Bible. I made Romans 8:26 my prayer. “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

My Savior reminded me that before I ever crossed one task off my to-do list or wrote one word of gratitude in my journal, I was included in the creation of humanity, which God called very good (Genesis 1:31). All the serving, churchgoing, and gratitude — not a bit of it made me more loved.

And here, in this place of pain and lament, where I was unable to cross off tasks, serve in church, or even do for my family, not a bit of it made me less loved.

And the same is true for you.

If we never lifted another finger in service or uttered another prayer (be it a prayer of lament or prayer of thanksgiving), we would still be as deeply adored just as we are right now by our Savior.

Jesus reminds us of this magnificent gift in John 15:9: “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love.” This love is our vital union with Christ that salvation provides. Our only task is to remain in this love—to accept it and revel in it.

Dear one, you are beloved of God. And sometimes, in long stormy seasons, all you can do is remain. Just linger and let this unconditional devotion splash around you as you hold on to this immeasurable gift of grace.

I don’t know if or when the twin tides of depression and anxiety might come again. These waves ride in and out at will. However, when the water comes next, I know that as I remain in His love, I am His beloved.

Forever.

“Nothing binds me to my Lord like a strong belief in His changeless love.”

Charles H. Spurgeon