I wonder if, when you wrote those few short words, "help us Love You more", it felt like the smallest, faintest cry, barely a whisper in a world so loud, and perhaps in a heart so heavy. The silent prayers, the ones we cannot put into words, sometimes seem the weakest of all. We think, "If I could only pray with fire, with eloquence, with unbroken attention, then surely the Lord would bend His ear." But you and I both know it is not so. Your heart's desire, that quiet ache for more love to Jesus, is not something you must kindle alone in the dark. He has been tending that little flame long before you felt its first spark.
Think of it this way: a woman goes out into her garden in the early morning, when the dew is still on everything, and she looks for what has grown. She does not despise the small shoots or the half-opened buds. She gathers what is there, even if it is mingled with things she wishes were not present, a little myrrh, bitter but wholesome, a little honey, sweet but still within the comb. Our Lord walks in His garden, which is the hearts of His people, and He does not wait for us to present Him with a perfect harvest. He gathers His myrrh with His spice; He takes the honeycomb with the honey. Your longing to love Him, though it feels tangled with weariness or distraction, is precious to Him precisely because it is real. He does not require you to sort out every infirmity before it can be acceptable. The very sigh, "Oh, that I loved Thee more," is a note that finds its harmony in His ear.
And have you noticed what you called Him? "Lord Jesus." There is the whole secret, hid in plain sight. You did not speak of a distant deity, a cold abstraction. You spoke to a Person, One whom your soul, even in its dryness, recognizes as its rightful Lord and its dearest Friend. This is the Christ who once stripped Himself of His robes of glory and put on the garments of our flesh. He bound Himself to us in a covenant before the world began, and then He bound Himself to us in visible union, being born as a baby, walking our dusty roads, and at last giving His hands and His side to the nails and the spear. Why did He do it, except that He loved us first? Your request, "help us Love You more", is not a demand He is reluctant to meet. It is the very thing He died to purchase for you: a heart that can love Him truly, and then love Him more.
Perhaps you have looked back at your own prayers lately and seen only coldness and failure. Your times alone in the closet have been full of wandering thoughts. You have knelt, and your hands have fallen down. You have tried to wrestle, and you have only sighed. And yet, here is the tender wonder, He has heard those very prayers. He has not thrown them aside because they were not wrapped in fine speech. The reason you still turn to Him at all, the reason you whisper "silent prayers" and ask for more love, is that He has already been listening, already answering, already drawing you. The parent does not lift the child up by the child's own strength, but stoops down and clasps the little one with both arms. It is because He first loved you that your heart now feels the pull toward Him.
So do not measure your love by its present heat, as though that were all your own to guard and increase. It is not a fire you must keep alight by your own breath. Look away from the smallness of your love and gaze upon the greatness of His. A man standing on the seashore cannot hold the ocean, but he can take a shell and fill it with the waters that wash over him. So your soul, small as it is, can be filled with the love of Christ that passes knowledge. The very cry, "help us," is the shell held out. He will fill it.
Let us ask Him together, then, and rest in this: the love we long to give is already being awakened by the love He never ceases to give.
Lord Jesus, Thou who art the same yesterday, and today, and forever, look upon this dear soul who has breathed a silent prayer to Thee. Thou hearest what the world does not, and Thou understandest what words cannot carry. Stir up love in this heart, even as the sun stirs the sleeping seeds in the cold ground. Let not weariness or sorrow choke the tender plant, but water it with the dew of Thy presence. Teach this one to rest in Thy finished work, and in resting, to find love kindled bright. Keep the heart fixed upon Thee, for to know Thee more is to love Thee more. And when the way is dark, and prayers seem but a whisper in the wind, hold them fast, for Thou hast promised never to let go. Amen.