Love Uninterrupted
What Daisy Petals, Broken Bookshelves, and the Cross Have in Common
My 10-year-old self sat cross-legged in the grass, sun warm on my back, clutching a daisy. One by one, I plucked each smooth, waxy petal, chanting softly, “He loves me… he loves me not.” Each delicate fragment of hope fell to the ground as if the answer lived in the cool, pliable curve between my fingers.
The Question Beneath the Petals
I didn’t know it then, but beneath a simple game and childhood crush was a question I’d carry into adulthood:
Am I loved? Will I always be loved?
We grow up, but the question stays. It shape-shifts, hides in different corners of our hearts, but it never really leaves. I asked it in places I never expected—in the silence after an argument, in the aftermath of mistakes I couldn’t undo, in the ache of a relationship broken beyond repair.
Do you still love me? How could you still love me?
I saw this question written on the face of one of my children during an autistic meltdown that shook our home. Frustration boiled over into chaos, and in a sudden, violent burst, a shelf was yanked from the wall, books cascading like wounded birds, crashing to the floor.
I rushed down the hallway and found my child kneeling in the shambles, eyes locked on mine. There was no defiance, only fear, not just from the mess, but from what that mess might mean.
A whisper escaped, barely audible: "Help me."
In that fragile moment, compassion flooded every part of me. The mess didn’t matter. What mattered was the heart behind the whisper. The words were small, but carried a query far heavier than the wreckage scattered around us:
Do you still love me, even after this?… I did. I always will.
In that moment, I recognized my own heart. The image of my child, desperate and undone, mirrored my own posture before God in my worst moments. When I’ve broken more than I can mend, when I’m surrounded by the ruin of my own failures, I find myself kneeling, asking the same question to God:
Do You still love me? Do You love me even now?
When Everything Falls
Scripture is filled with stories of falling.
The very first fall happened in a garden, where Adam and Eve reached for what wasn’t theirs to grasp, and humanity tumbled headfirst into sin and separation. Even then, God didn’t walk away. He came looking, calling out, "Where are you?" (Genesis 3:9). From the first fall, God has been the One who pursues, never the One who turns His back.
Pharaoh sought to keep God’s people enslaved, trying to interrupt the flow of God’s covenant love. His heart hardened against the pleas of Moses, attempting to anchor God’s people in oppression. Yet, every act of defiance only magnified God’s power and faithfulness. The Red Sea parted, walls of water standing tall, as
God's love made a way where there was none (Exodus 14:21-22).
Then there was King Herod, who tried to kill Jesus as a child, attempting to snuff out the very embodiment of God’s love before His ministry began. The enemy’s fear could not override God’s plan. Joseph, warned in a dream, fled to Egypt with Mary and the infant Jesus, fulfilling prophecy demonstrating that even exile could not interrupt God's narrative of redemption (Matthew 2:13-15).
And the fall of Satan, cast down from heaven (Luke 10:18), marking the defeat of pride and rebellion against God. Even his schemes to derail God’s redemptive plan were destined to fail.
Satan sought to derail God’s plan most fiercely at the cross.The religious leaders mocked, the crowd jeered, and darkness covered the land. What appeared to be the ultimate fall was actually the ultimate victory.
Jesus’ death on the cross wasn’t the interruption of God’s love; it was its ultimate display.
“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24)
Jesus fell under the crushing weight of the cross, His body giving way beneath the burden of the world’s sin. But His fall wasn’t failure. It was fulfillment. He was planting resurrection.
From the first fall in Eden to the final defeat of death itself, Scripture tells a story not of despair, but of a love that never fails. "The last enemy to be destroyed is death." (1 Corinthians 15:26) Even death falls before the love of Jesus.
Every attempt to interrupt God’s love has failed. Every enemy has fallen. But His love has never wavered.
"Now to Him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy…" (Jude 24)
Where Gravity Meets Grace
Maybe all our falls—daisy petals, scattered books, shattered dreams, and broken hearts—aren’t the end of the story. Maybe they’re the beginning, because when we fall as far as we can, we discover we were never out of His reach. Every fall becomes the ground where grace shows up.
The uninterruptible love of Jesus found me when I was looking in all the wrong places, and revealed the true definition of love, one that initiates, transforms, compels, and catches us in every fall (1 John 3:16a).
Still wondering what daisy petals, broken bookshelves, and the cross have in common?
They all echo the same ache—a longing woven through every heart: Am I loved?
The daisy petals fall with fragile hope, each a whispered plea. The bookshelf crashes down, laying bare the deeper fear of being unlovable.
And the cross?
It’s where the question was answered once and for all—not with fragile hope or fear, but with the uninterruptible love of Jesus, stretched across splintered wood, declaring:
“Yes. Always yes.”
So, if you find yourself in free fall, remember this:
His hands are wide enough, strong enough, and sure enough to catch you every time. And in the catching, you’ll discover His love was holding you long before you ever reached for Him.
Beautiful