Advent: Love That Comes Near
As the Pat Benatar lyric goes, “Love is a battlefield…”
(And if you’re reading this and don’t know that song—please, a) go listen to it, and b) go watch 13 Going on 30 - more than just the clip below.)
I mean, human love is definitely known for being a battlefield. If we’re honest with ourselves, most human love has at least a tiny ulterior motive of getting what is best for numero uno… me.
When it comes to understanding the absolutely scandalous, overwhelming, unconditional, extravagant love of God for us, we often can’t even get close to a tiny grasp of it. Why? Because of the way we’ve twisted love as humans, or the way the people who were supposed to love us unconditionally just… didn’t.
We view everything through a shattered human lens, and because of that, we miss the richness of the love of our Father.
I say this as someone who struggles on the daily to grasp the idea that people in my life love me. Even when my very own people, who are right next to me, actually do love me, my perception and twisted perspective can tell a different story. I can feel like they don’t want to be near me, don’t enjoy me, and don’t really choose me.
And when I get stuck there, I continually miss the goodness, the witness, the beautifulness of God’s great love for me—His beloved, His chosen, His image-bearer.
I know I’m not the only one who feels like God is distant sometimes, if not most of the time.
But the truth is: He is not a far-off God.
He is a right-here-next-to-me God.
Honestly, most of the time, He’s a carrying-me-along kind of near.
Advent is where that comes into clearest focus.
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.” (John 1:14)
Jesus, God the Son, didn’t enter the world in human form only to remain emotionally distant and untouchable. There was a reason He put on skin and moved into a neighborhood. There was a reason He took on a body that could get tired, hungry, hurt, and hugged.
The incarnation is God saying, “I refuse to love you from far away.”
John later writes:
“This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.” (1 John 4:9–10)
This is love: He moved first.
Not when we had our lives together.
Not when our faith was strong and our trauma healed.
Not when our December looked like a Christmas card.
He moved first, when all of those things were still a mess.
This has been “a season” for me… and I’m not going to pretend it’s been a short one.
For years now, I’ve been stretched (sometimes more like pulled) in my understanding of the love of God. I’m slowly starting to see it more clearly in the people, places, and things He brings into my life.
I have always struggled with feeling truly loved for just being me. (That is a whole future post—how unseen I have always felt.) Growing up, I was shaped by the idea that I had to give something of myself to receive love:
Performance
Perfect behavior
“Honor” (which I’ve since learned was very twisted and controlling in the way it was taught)
Silence
Those were the currencies that garnered “love” for me… or what I thought was love.
And, as you can imagine, that shaped every part of how I saw love as an adult:
The love I believed I had to give: always earning, always performing, always pleasing.
The love I believed I was allowed to receive: conditional, fragile, easily withdrawn.
I don’t believe God wastes anything or lets us walk through things He isn’t ready to gently help us process in His timing. For me, the untangling of my faith and the rebuilding of it on a better, more solid theological foundation has been years of His patience and good timing.
Right now, I’m in a season with an incredible counselor who pulls no punches and yet is gentle in his delivery. He has helped me see real, embodied love in my life right now from others: friends, co-workers, family, and church. The kind of love that shows up, listens, remembers, stays.
That in itself feels like God embodied in the people He has gifted with counseling and care. A good reminder of a good God.
God’s love, with skin on.
One of the names given to Jesus is Emmanuel, “God with us” (Matthew 1:23). Not God above us or God far from us or God mildly interested in us.
God with us.
With us in our:
Target runs and late-night Amazon carts.
Exhaustion after too many events.
Empty chairs at the table.
Family dynamics that flare up like a rash every holiday.
Quiet 3 a.m. moments when grief sneaks in.
If the incarnation tells us anything, it’s that the love of God is not abstract or distant. It moves into neighborhoods and living rooms and hospital rooms and counseling offices and church lobbies and noisy kitchens.
Paul writes this breathtaking, stubborn promise:
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life,
neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God
that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
(Romans 8:38–39)
Nothing.
Not:
Your family history
Your diagnosis
Your doubts
Your grief
Your failures
Your wildly imperfect December
There is no “asterisk” in that passage. No fine print where God says, “Except for you, because you’re kind of a lot.”
The love of God is incarnate—Jesus in flesh.
The love of God is tenacious—refusing to let go.
The love of God is present—right here, in the exact mess where you’re reading this.
Here’s the hard part for many of us (raising my hand high here): it’s one thing to preach about God’s love, and another thing to actually let it land in our own story.
To let it be true that:
I am loved when I am not producing anything helpful.
I am loved when I am too tired to show up like I want to.
I am loved when my trauma responses flare up and I feel ridiculous.
I am loved when I am more “grief” than “fun.”
I am loved when I don’t feel lovable.
In a very real way, this year the love of God has looked like:
A counselor who tells me hard truth, kindly.
Friends who send a text at just the right time.
People who remember dates that are hard, and check in.
A husband who picks up fast food on Christmas Eve because I’ve poured out everything I have on two days of service.
Young adults who bring laughter into my living room and life.
A grandson who curls up next to me in jammies for our light drive.
Is every one of those people perfect? No.
Is every relationship clean and painless? Also no.
But they are real humans through whom God keeps whispering, “See? Here I am. I am not going anywhere.”
For the practical piece this 4th Advent week, I want to offer something called a Love Examen.
If you’ve never heard of the Examen, here’s the simple version: no high church or Catholic background required:
The Examen is just a short, prayerful review of your day with God. Think of it as sitting down with Jesus on the couch at the end of the night and saying, “Can we look back over today together?” You pay attention to where you noticed His presence, where you felt off, and where He might be inviting you to grow.
That’s it. No special language, no magic formulas. Just honest reflection with a God who loves you.
For this last week of Advent, here’s a simple Love Examen you can practice, maybe at night before bed or in the quiet of the morning:
Step 1: Become Aware of God’s Presence
Take a deep breath. Slowly.
Ask, “God of love, help me notice You as we look at my day.”You don’t have to feel anything special. Just trust that He’s already with you.
Step 2: Review the Day with Love
Gently walk back through your day, like replaying a highlight reel—but tuned to love. Ask:
Where today did I feel loved by God or by another person?
(A text, a smile, someone’s patience, a moment of beauty, a verse that landed deeply.)
Where did I maybe miss or brush past love that was offered?
(A compliment I shrugged off, help I refused, time with God I rushed through.)
Thank God, specifically, for one or two of those moments.
Step 3: Notice Where Love Felt Hard
Ask:
Where today did I struggle to love others?
Where did I feel empty, resentful, or numb?
Where did I find it hard to believe that I am loved?
Be honest. This is not about shaming yourself; it’s about telling the truth with God in the room.
Offer those places to Him: “Lord, this is where I felt stuck. Help me here.”
Step 4: Ask for Grace for Tomorrow
Look toward the next day, just a little.
Is there one person God is nudging you to love in a small, concrete way?
Is there one area where you want to be more open to receiving love (from God or others)?
Ask simply:
“God of love, give me eyes to see Your love and courage to share it tomorrow.”
That’s it. Ten minutes, tops.
But over time, this kind of daily noticing can gently rewire the shattered lens through which we see love.
A Final Advent Blessing (Hope, Peace, Joy, Love)
As we wrap up this Advent year’s journey, these weeks of Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love, this is my blessing for you, and honestly, for myself:
For the week of Hope:
May you know that even when you feel underwater,
there is a God who gives you oxygen in the dark
and whispers, “This is not the end of your story.”
For the week of Peace:
May you discover that peace is not the absence of chaos
but the presence of Jesus in the middle of it,
calming storms both around you and inside you.
For the week of Joy:
May you taste joy in a minor key,
not instead of your grief, but right alongside it,
and may that deep, quiet joy hold you when happiness fades.
For the week of Love:
May you be surprised by the stubborn, incarnate love of God
that refuses to stay distant,
that moves into your neighborhood, your December, your story,
and calls you “beloved” even on your worst day.
And as Christ comes, again and again, to your heart and home,
may you know that nothing in all creation
can separate you from the love of God
that is yours in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Amen.
Photo by Brigitte Tohm on Unsplash
