As I start writing this, it is 3:37 PM on the day my blog is due.

Groan.

As I do with many writing projects, I’ve had ideas bouncing around about what I would write for this Valentine’s post. But also as I do with many ideas, I wrote down the title alone and figured the myriad of ideas that had flickered through my thoughts would spontaneously come back to life when I opened up a document.

Nope.

Instead, I have echoes of an 80s song bellowing, echoing as only a persistent mindworm will do, and blocking out the valid and thoughtful contemplations that had previously percolated to the surface. (For those of you who remember the song in question and now have the mindworm transferred to your brain, you’re welcome.)

Perhaps the conundrum was instigated by the overabundance of snow. I mean, the last pile in our yard had finally melted, and the weather said, “can’t allow that!” and dumped another ten inches.

In addition, the Mama Bear part of my cranium wouldn’t let me sleep last night until I knew the first leg of Karl’s transatlantic flight was successfully completed. (Of course, his journey is/was a testimony to the power of love in and of itself. He’s worked a lot of late nights and banked his leave to acquire the time for this trip. And, of course, it wasn’t my first sleep-deprived night this week. Sometimes my mind wants to stay awake for absolutely no reason at all.)

Therefore, I’m working on both a sleep and sunshine deficit.

Next to me, at this moment, I have my little sun machine beaming its rays to help my winter mood with a taste of virtual summer.

I’m almost 300 words in and have said painfully little about the topic du jour.

When I realized what state my thoughts were in today, I scanned through previous blogs hoping there was something I could reuse with just a couple of tweaks. Nope. Part of that, for those who know me well, is my chronic dislike of Valentine’s Day. Manufactured holidays irritate me. Gary loves me anyway, but he has learned that I will not appreciate chocolates on February 14th and the only roses I like are those dried into rosehip tea or made into rose syrup. Therefore, I did myself in and didn’t have a repertoire of Valentine/love-themed blogs to choose from.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t like and appreciate love. I’m beyond grateful that God gave us His ability to lavish affection—both deserved and undeserved—upon the people around us. Love, real, honest-to-goodness love makes life worth living. The acting upon it gives us purpose. For instance, if I didn’t love my readers, I wouldn’t be slogging through these words trying to create a blog post.

What I don’t like, similar to the not liking this weekend’s holiday, is the limitations the modern world has put upon the idea of what love is. Love is not twitterpated. Love is not passion. Both of those, long-term, weaken love if they are shoved to the forefront.

And we want and need powerful love to live abundantly for our God.

Love can have feelings attached to it, but it needn’t. Sometimes, love slogs through the trenches step by agonizing step next to the person we love. And sometimes, it soars on eagle’s wings of joy.

Because of love, Jesus wept. Because of love, He washed dirty, grimy feet. Because of love, He willingly went to the cross.

But also, because of love, He rose again.

English is a pitiful language when it comes to talking about love. We can use the same word to describe our favorite dish (I love Chicago deep dish pizza) or the people close to us (I love Gary) or how we relate to our Creator (I love God). We know, intuitively, that the word love means different things or has different degrees depending on context, but I still wish it was more dynamic. I wish it had specific words like the Greek or many other languages.

Then you would know some of power ascribed to the phrase without interpretation.

Real God-given love relies on action over feeling, covenant over promises, service over knowledge.

If the mindworm I gave you persists, do what I just did. Open your Bible to 1 Corinthians 13 and give yourself a refresher course in the power of love.

And thank you for bearing with me on the journey today. Love you guys!

Last weekend, Gary, Karl, and I went on our annual pilgrimage.

If you know us well, you know that means we went to the auto show. As a family, we enjoy all things automotive. The roar of engines makes us smile. We like talking increased horsepower or optimizing mileage. And yes, we are still in mourning that Grand Tour no longer exists.

Ironically enough, we never drive to the auto show because it’s downtown DC. And frankly, it’s much more convenient to take Metro into the city than it is to drive. In fact, while we were down there, we saw people taking their in-the-city-test-drives and watched them spend a lot more time waiting to turn onto a crowded street than actually drive. It looked like an exercise in frustration. I can’t imagine choosing to test drive in the congested city center.

Driving is best on the open road.

If you read my Christmas letter, you know my current favorite stretch of road is highway 301 through Maryland and Delaware. As soon as I come down the slope of the Bay Bridge and level out, I feel as my ability to breathe has been intensified. The car and I become one and we soar.

Of course, I’m talking about a stick shift manual transmission. That’s where the fun is. Can I physically drive an automatic? Of course. But I don’t feel as tied into the vehicle, as essential to its progress. And since I’m easily distracted, I am a significantly worse driver when I’m behind the wheel of an automatic. If any of my limbs don’t have something to do, I end up tapping my foot to the music, creating stories in my head, and forget that I’m driving. I also lose the joy of the road.

I realize that in this country, my idea of driving is out of favor. People seem to like to either multitask while driving or allow the vehicle to do most of the work.

For me, I see similarities between driving a manual and being a Christian.

The power behind the wheel is not mine. I cannot, on my own, move at 60 or 70 miles an hour. Generally, my comfortable max is walking one mile every twenty minutes. That’s a far cry from the speed the car’s motor can generate.

Ephesians 3:20 Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us…

When I walk (or drive) in the power of God, He gives me the ability to do what He needs done. He makes me move in the direction He wants and at the speed He wants. I’m riding, I’m driving, and He allows me to help. He allows me to change the gears, or press the clutch to rest in His speed. But it’s always His power that allows us to move. He also keeps our windshield clean so I can see where He wants me to go.

But He, in His kind grace, allows me to choose how fast we get there.

He knows there are some destinations, like highway 301, that I’m much more enthusiastic about pursuing and I will put the pedal down and cruise where He leads me.

Other times, driving through a storm, or in a congested city, I’m going to slow way down. Some people trust Him enough to drive quickly even in those circumstances, but I tend to get a bit timid when I don’t see all the conditions.

But He is the car that protects me and gives me the power to move forward into my day. He is capable of everything, more than I can process, more than I’m comfortable with. But graciously, He still lets me help with the drive.

2 Corinthians 12:9 And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Yet again life has interrupted the long-delayed blog. Didn’t I originally have my fun topic scheduled for January 8th? It will still not appear this week.

A week ago, I woke up sick.

I’d been fine the day before. I’d tutored, gone to book group, cleaned, cooked, and even did some writing. It had been a busy and productive day. Then I went to bed with many plans for the next day.

However, the exhaustion, congestion, and body aches that greeted me when I cracked open my eyes deemed that was not to be. For most of Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, I coughed and slept. I drank weak tea, read books whenever my head didn’t ache, and watched movies when it did. While I do remember feeling worse, it was still pretty far up there on the sickness scale.

Then, Friday night, about an hour before bedtime, I started to feel incredibly thirsty. I poured a large glass of water and downed it in a couple of minutes. Still thirsty, craving water, I repeated the process. And again. And again.

Almost two hours later and after nearly eight glasses, the thirst ebbed enough that I could go to sleep. To my shock and surprise, I didn’t get up any more often than usual. I was also stunned to wake up the next morning feeling significantly better. (Not healthy yet, but the improvement was amazing.)

My body had obviously needed the water.

In a way, while that has never happened to me before, it’s not all that surprising. The human body is, after all, mostly water. Medical protocol often includes an IV of fluid as one of the first stages of emergency treatment. These frail forms of ours can do without food a whole lot longer than they can be deprived of water. Water propels our blood about the body to provide oxygen and nutrients. Water also cleans out the waste from our systems and helps us heal.

The combination of two hydrogen atoms bonded to one oxygen atom creates a miraculous molecule. Water is the universal solvent. Beyond using it to keep ourselves clean and presentable, we clean our homes, our clothes, and our stuff with it. We prepare our food with it and make sure the animals around us have enough of it since there are very few living things that can survive without water.

Then, if you pull back into the heavens for a God’s eye view of our planet, you see the abundance of water cradling the land masses.

Without water, our life is not possible. Without enough water, and enough clean water, a healthy life is not possible.

John 4:10 Jesus answered and said to her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water.”

God has a lot to say about water, a lot more than I would or could ever cover in a blog post. Entire books have been written about it from a scientific viewpoint as well as a religious/faith angle. I’m not going there or trying to reinvent that waterwheel.

Suffice it to say that we need the spiritual water even more than we need the physical water. Our souls are dry, dead, and dusty without it. And too often, when we notice the spiritual need, we reach for easy water in our local cisterns of religious tradition, feel-good distraction, and self-help (among others). These actions are “wet”, so they solve that portion of the need, but they won’t clean us up or nourish as the water Jesus provides will do.

May we be as thirsty for his powerful living water, as I was for cold filtered water last Friday. May we seek Jesus and his words over and over again until they spill out of our souls—to the benefit of everyone we encounter.

Because real water is powerful stuff.