The Power of Love

These pictures are of two miracles. The first miracle is Seamus. Monty brought him home six and a half years ago as a Valentine present for me. I took him out of his kennel, snuggled him close to me, and fell in love. I also was extremely concerned about him—he was so thin, all long, gangly legs. His fur was patchy and matted. He couldn’t keep food or water down. Monty and I took him to two different vets, both of whom said he was too sick for them to do anything. I refused to believe that. I held him almost constantly for the first few months we had him. I’d cradle his thin little body and tell him, “Keep fighting, sweet boy. You’re going to make it. I love you so much.” And slowly—very slowly—Seamus started to get well. He had an appetite. He played with Mackin. He took an interest in his surroundings. And we found a vet who discovered that he has asthma and an autoimmune disorder. Both of these flare up a few times a year and require medication, but Seamus is otherwise very healthy. And now, when he jumps into my arms and nearly knocks the wind out of me, I remember that almost weightless kitten he was, and I marvel—Look what love can do!

The second miracle in that picture is me—alive, smiling, and grateful. I say that with absolute humility because the memory of who I used to be is still so vivid. After years of intense struggles with depression, anxiety, and substance abuse, I felt empty, hopeless, and completely undeserving of love. But as I began the process of recovery, the people around me began to love me back to life through their actions and their words:

My brother, when I told him I couldn’t keep going: “Yes, you can. No way are you quitting now.”

My mom, when I told her how worthless I felt: “You’re so precious to me. I don’t know how many ways I can say that to you, but it’s the absolute truth.”

My dad, when I read my amends letter to him with tears streaming down my face: “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m so proud of you.”

Monty, no matter what I said: “You’re going to make it through this, Renee. I believe in you.”

And God, who used the people who loved me, His word, and a million big and small ways to catch my attention: “Keep fighting, my girl. You’re going to make it. I love you so much.”

Wrapped in love and redeemed by grace, I fought my way into lasting sobriety. And as I learned about sobriety, I began to fall in love with life. I had purpose and joy and hope. God even showed me how to love myself—how to be comfortable in my own skin. His love continues to carry me through dark nights and hard days when I feel the familiar hopelessness creeping in. That smile you see on my face in the picture with Seamus is because I know I’m loved. And every day, I still look up in wonder, my heart so full of gratitude that it almost hurts, and I ask, “How can I ever thank You?” And God responds, “Tell them. Tell them what My love can do.”

That’s why I share my story. I don’t like looking back and remembering those dark and painful days. But I do it for two reasons: first, I never want to forget how lost I was when love found me and brought me home. And second, God asks me to, so that I can say to you, reading this right now: “I know it feels so lonely and dark that you think you’ll never find your way out. Just keep going. Keep fighting. You’re going to make it. God loves you so much.”

Seamus is still here because of love. I’m still here because of love. And you? Someday, you’ll get to share your story because of love—how love caught you, held you, and wouldn’t let go. You’ll catch yourself with a genuine smile on your face and hope in your eyes, and you’ll think, “Look what love can do!”

Imagine God singing these words to you.