I pulled a muscle in my back this week, doing homework. Isn’t that anticlimactic? You expect to hear that I was training for a weightlifting competition when I suddenly pulled a muscle and had to be rushed to the athletic trainer. Nope, didn’t happen. I don’t lift weights.
Or maybe it’s more fitting that I was just doing homework for too long in a straining position. (aka, sitting cross-legged on my bed and practically folding myself in half to be able to write stuff down… I don’t recommend it)
I was thinking about the verse that talks about how great God’s love is: higher than the heavens. And His faithfulness? Stretches to the skies.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t typically measure love in inches, feet, or miles. Maybe I should though. It seems like it’s more quantitative than the way people typically measure it.
So despite the unconventional measurement (isn’t God usually unconventional?), it’s a great picture. I’m picturing God’s love like a giant wad of something like silly putty that stretches when you pull it. Maybe like a giant lump of pizza dough. Except since this is divine pizza dough, it doesn’t get holes in it when you stretch it and always stays the perfect thickness.
Then there’s my little lump of human love next to it. Let’s try stretching that one out first, shall we? You pull it a bit, and I pull it a little in another direction. Oh look, this is big enough to make two pizzas now. What love. Look how far it’s stretching! We’ve got about 4 feet of dough, enough to feed lots of people. Oh, maybe we should stop pulling now; there’s a hole. I guess we could pull a little farther – oh, another hole.
Pretty soon it looks like swiss cheese in dough form, and we’re realizing that we don’t have enough for everyone. And if people have sharp edges that could make more holes in it, it certainly can’t cover them.
So, we reluctantly stop pulling on my love and step over to God’s. We pull and pull and pull until we can’t pull anymore, but then we notice that it’s still stretching upwards and out, all by itself. Where my love dough stretch possibly to the size of a small adult, God’s is already past the height of the Sears Tower.
And there are no holes. No gaps. It covers everything. And keeps going. Forever.
That’s the kind of love I want to live for.