The heart has a long memory for love. It can hold a face, a voice, a season of life, and keep them warm across many years. And when that old flame flickers again in the mind, it can feel as though something unfinished is stirring, a door left ajar, a melody waiting for its final chord. You carry this hope like a letter you have read a hundred times, wondering if the one who first sent it ever thinks of you.
But let me sit with you a moment and point to a stronger, steadier love, one that does not ebb with time or circumstance. The Lord Jesus knows what it is to set His heart on someone and never withdraw it. He bound Himself to His people by covenant bonds before the world began, and when He came among us, He did not merely send a message by an angel’s hand. He veiled His glory in our own flesh so that He might speak with us as a man speaks with his friend. He knows the deep waters of longing, and He is not impatient with your ache.
Think of how He receives the offerings of our hearts. In the old Song of Songs, the Bridegroom comes into His garden and says, “I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey.” The honey would be purer without the wax, yet He takes the one with the other. So it is with our affections, they are often mixed with infirmity, with memories that sting as much as they sweeten, with hopes we cannot untangle from self. But our Lord is not a fastidious guest. He gathers what we bring, even the broken pieces, and He makes holy compounds out of the common graces of His people. So bring Him this desire, wax and all. Tell Him what you have carried in secret. He will not mock it or fling it away.
Do not suppose that because He is risen and unseen, you have no conversation with Him. Our prayers speak into His ears, our tears fall into His heart. And in those quiet moments, you may hear Him whisper back a better word than any human letter could carry. He says, “I have loved you with an everlasting love.” That love is not a maybe or a might-have-been. It is ancient, practical, and altogether immeasurable. It was proven on a cross before you drew your first breath, and it abides when all other lights grow dim.
Now, as for that old love you hold, the Lord does not ask you to crush your heart into stone. He asks first that you love Him, and then trust Him with the rest. A child is not selfish for rejoicing in a father’s love, and you are not foolish for wanting love at all. But see if you can make Christ the first and the last of your joy, and let every other affection fall into line behind that. When two notes are played in harmony with Him, they will find their true pitch. If this reconnection is part of His good purpose, He will open the door; if it is not, He will give you something better than a faded echo, Himself, the friend who sticks closer than a brother.
Your heart is not hidden from Him. He who counts the stars and calls them by name knows the secret place where this memory lives. Do not be afraid to let His love come into that room and sit down. It may be that He will gently untie some old knots, or it may be that He will bless what He finds there and make it new. Only let Him lead. Only let Him speak first into the silence.
---
Lord Jesus, you see this dear one who has brought a tender hope before you, wrapped in the paper of bygone days. You know whether the ember still glows for a time you ordained, or whether it is only a spark that needs to be given up to safer hands. Quiet every restless question. Let your peace stand guard at the door of this heart. Fill it so full of yourself that no earthly love can ever become an idol, and no loneliness can ever drown the sound of your voice. We trust you, who are love itself, to write the next chapter. In your faithful name, Amen.