💛 Then Why Would I Settle for Less?

I have been thinking about the way God talks about us.

Not simply what He asks of us. Not what He has called us to do. Not even what He has promised to do for us.

But the way He speaks about us.

In Deuteronomy 32:9, we read:

“For the LORD’s portion is His people.”

His portion.

His inheritance.

Then, just one verse later, we are told that He kept him “as the apple of his eye.”

And then there is Zephaniah 3:17:

“The LORD thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.”

He rejoices over us.

With singing.

When I consider language like that, a question comes to mind:

Then why would I settle for less?

If God sees me as His portion, why would I become comfortable being treated as though I am merely an option?

If He considers me His inheritance, why would I accept being treated as though I am disposable?

If He keeps me as the apple of His eye, why would I call indifference love?

If He rejoices over me, why would I settle for someone who merely tolerates me?

If He sings over me, why would I spend my life trying to convince someone that I am worth being glad about?

Maybe the love of God is not only teaching us how to love.

Maybe it is also teaching us how to be loved.

Jesus said something remarkable:

“As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you.” — John 15:9

Jesus loved from the love He knew.

He knew the love of the Father, and that love became the pattern for the love He extended toward us.

Perhaps that is the pattern for us too.

We come to know love by knowing Him.

The more we understand the way God loves us, the more our definition of love begins to change. We stop allowing our wounds, disappointments, culture, loneliness, or previous relationships to define what love should look like.

We have a better example.

God Himself.

And His love teaches us that love values.

Love delights.

Love protects.

Love is faithful.

Love does not merely remain in the room. Love is glad you are there.

That revelation should change what we are willing to receive from another person.

But it should also change what we are willing to give.

Because the person standing across from us is loved by God too.

They are precious to Him too.

They are someone He created in His image.

Someone He desires to know His love.

Someone who should never have to become smaller, quieter, less alive, or less themselves simply to convince us to love them.

So this cannot simply become a declaration of what we deserve.

“God loves me this way, so you better love me this way too.”

No.

If knowing God's love teaches me how I should be loved, it must also teach me how I should love.

If I want someone who delights in me, I should be prepared to delight in them.

If I want someone who sees me as precious, I should see them as precious.

If I want someone who chooses me gladly, I should choose them gladly.

If I want someone who handles my heart carefully, I should handle theirs carefully.

Knowing how God sees people should make it increasingly difficult for us to handle them carelessly.

This makes me think differently about the first relationship in Scripture.

God looked at the man He created and said:

“It is not good that the man should be alone.” — Genesis 2:18

Before there was sin, before there was shame, before there was brokenness, God recognized something about the man He loved.

He should not be alone.

And God made someone corresponding to him—an ezer kenegdo.

Not simply someone to help him accomplish tasks.

Someone with whom he could share life.

Someone to stand with him.

Someone to know and be known by.

And when Adam saw her, his response was recognition:

“This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.”

There is something beautiful about being recognized.

And perhaps knowing God teaches us to recognize the kind of love we were created to share.

Not perfection. No spouse can be God for another person, nor should we expect them to be. There are places in us that only God can fill.

But God can still be our pattern.

His love can establish the standard by which we learn what love is.

And when I know that I am His portion, His inheritance, and the apple of His eye—when I know that He rejoices over me with singing—I don't have to desperately search for someone to prove that I am worthy of love.

I already know that I am loved.

That changes everything.

I am no longer looking for someone to give me an identity.

I can look for someone with whom love can be shared.

Someone I can delight in who delights in me.

Someone I can choose who chooses me.

Someone whose heart I can treasure and who treasures mine.

Someone who can look at me and say, in their own human way:

I'm glad you're mine.

And I can look at them and say the same.

Maybe that is why the language of Song of Solomon is so beautiful:

“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” — Song of Solomon 6:3

There is no begging in that statement.

No auditioning.

No convincing.

There is belonging.

I am my beloved's.

My beloved is mine.

God's love teaches us how to love.

God's love teaches us how to be loved.

And when we begin to understand the way He sees us, treasures us, keeps us, delights in us, and rejoices over us—

then why would we settle for less?