I wonder how we know we’re loved.

Is it an unearthly awareness we’re born with? Is that why a child can be picked up by a parent and stop crying in their arms without anything being said?

But what about when we get older? Is it possible, as adults, to innately know we are loved? Or do the scars and disappointments of life mar that sense so that we can never really know again, without some lingering sense of doubt?

What happens in between those infant years and the days of adult enlightenment that leads us to question? In observing many life stories, it’s usually something that breaks the fragile bonds of relationship and trusting, something that requires forgiveness. Often with other people, but always, fundamentally, with God.

What a sweet promise to ponder today. When we cry out to Him, God forgives. And when He forgives, no matter how small or large our offenses were, we are able to lift our eyes and catch a glimpse of His goodness and of His love.

Not just any love. But abounding love. Love without limits. Love that can’t be contained. Love that will certainly spill over to drench the disappointments and smooth the scars.

When we invite it to.

Speak to God honestly. And be loved lavishly.