Messiah
“God’s love is like an ocean. You can see its beginning, but not its end.” —Rick Warren
“God’s love is like an ocean. You can see its beginning, but not its end.” —Rick Warren
The crash of waves against the shore has always reminded me of God’s love—powerful, endless, and beyond comprehension. Yet for much of my life, I stood on the sand, feeling empty, alone, unable to join in.
No one truly understands the ache of feeling unloved until they have endured its hollow echo. It’s the most horrifying dread, the darkest pain that seeps into the soul, whispering lies: You are not worth loving. You are alone. You are not enough. It becomes the background hum of a life lived on the outside of the glass, looking in.
For years, I could not imagine that Jesus could possibly understand that kind of rejection. I saw Him as holy, composed, and serene—untouched by the kind of pain that cracks open a person’s heart. He was divine, I reasoned, not desperate. He was love incarnate, not the one unloved. But the Scriptures tell a different story.
They show a Savior who did not simply observe human suffering but entered into it—physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Jesus wept at the death of His friend Lazarus (John 11:35). He felt anger when the Pharisees prized rules over compassion (Mark 3:1—6). He grieved over Jerusalem’s hardness of heart, crying, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace” (Luke 19:42, NIV). He endured loneliness in Gethsemane, sorrow so heavy that He said, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matt. 26:38, NIV). And at His most anguished moment, He cried out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46, ESV).
Every emotion we try to suppress, Jesus carried. Every layer of our isolation, He stepped into. Consider this: the Son of God understands your emptiness—not from afar, but from within it.
Jesus knew what it meant to be rejected. He was despised by His own people. The religious leaders mocked Him, plotted to kill Him, and accused Him of blasphemy (John 5:1—18; 8:59). Even His disciples—the ones who promised to stay—fled when fear took hold. One betrayed Him for silver; another denied Him three times. By the time He reached the cross, the same voices that had shouted, “Hosanna!” were now screaming, “Crucify him!”
If anyone has ever known what it means to be unwanted and rejected, it is Jesus. And yet, that is where love revealed its greatest strength.
Jesus did not resist rejection; He absorbed it. He allowed the full weight of human cruelty and abandonment to fall on Him so that we would never have to be cut off from God’s love again. His cry from the cross was not one of defeat but of solidarity. In that moment, He became one with all who have ever felt forgotten. He is the God who knows rejection intimately—and loves us still.
When I reflect on this truth, I hear my own heart echoing inside them. The child who sat in silence, wondering why affection always seemed to pass her by. The young woman who mistook performance for love. The adult who still fought to earn what could never be earned. All of those versions of me are answered in His voice on the cross. I am loved. You are too.
The love that held Jesus on the cross was not abstract. It was covenantal.
The truth gleaned from the Old Testament Hebrew words of love—aheb, hesed, and racham—is that God’s love is constant, never changing and always available. We will never be unloved by God. God’s lasting covenant to His people, to you and I, will stand forever.
The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the word, ‘covenant’ as a formal, solemn and binding agreement between two or more parties, especially for the performance of some action.
At the beginning of creation, there was no need for a covenant because there was no sin. Adam and Eve lovingly communed with God daily. God created humans in His image and gave them complete authority over the earth he’d made and everything in it (Genesis 1:26). When Adam and Eve disobeyed God’s instructions, the need for a redemptive covenant began.
Throughout Scripture, God’s love unfolds through covenants—solemn, binding promises that reveal His heart for relationship. The first covenant came through Noah, a man who found favor with God in a corrupt world. After the flood, God placed a rainbow in the sky and declared, “I establish my covenant with you: Never again will all life be destroyed by the waters of a flood” (Gen. 9:11, NIV). It was a one-sided promise, asking nothing in return. Even when humanity failed, the rainbow stood as a reminder that mercy would have the last word.
Then came Abraham. God called him to leave everything familiar and promised, “I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you” (Gen. 12:2, NIV). When it was time to seal the covenant, God caused Abraham to fall into a deep sleep. Only God passed through the pieces of the sacrifice, declaring that He alone would bear the cost if the covenant were broken (Gen. 15:17—18). That moment foreshadowed Christ—the God who would one day bear humanity’s failure in His own body.
Can you imagine what it means that God Himself walked through the covenant alone? He took responsibility for our faithlessness before we were even born.
Through Moses, God established another covenant with Israel. He delivered them from slavery and gave them laws to guide their life with Him: “Now if you obey me fully and keep my covenant, then out of all nations you will be my treasured possession” (Exod. 19:5, NIV). But when they disobeyed, He also gave them a system of sacrifice, a way for blood to cover sin temporarily. Each sacrifice pointed toward something greater—a redemption that would one day be complete.
Later, God made a covenant with David, promising that one of his descendants would reign forever: “Your house and your kingdom will endure forever before me; your throne will be established forever” (2 Sam. 7:16, NIV). This was not a promise of earthly rule but of an everlasting kingdom. That King was Jesus—the Messiah, the Son of David—who would reign not from a throne of gold but from a cross of wood.
All of these covenants—Noah’s mercy, Abraham’s promise, Moses’s law, and David’s kingship—culminated in one final fulfillment. Through Jesus, God established the new and everlasting covenant.
The night before His death, Jesus sat with His disciples and lifted the cup. “This cup,” He said, “is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you” (Luke 22:20, NIV). That moment changed everything. His blood sealed the covenant that no sin could undo. The veil separating humanity from God was torn in two (Matt. 27:51).
Through Jesus, rejection was reversed. The excluded were welcomed. The shamed were restored. The unloved were chosen. This new covenant is for all of us. For me and for you. Through the sacrifice of Jesus, we have a right to God’s love, all of His love.
What would it mean for you to believe that no failure, no wound, no rejection can separate you from this covenant love?
For a long time, these truths remained only intellectual; my heart could not feel them. I believed God loved me, but I could not receive it. My heart remained guarded behind invisible glass. I wanted to believe He loved me, but belief alone could not penetrate the old wound of abandonment. So, I prayed for Him to show me—not in words, but in a way I could experience.
I sat with my eyes closed and soon saw an image of Jesus on the beach. The horizon stretched wide, golden light spilling over the water. He walked towards me, the gentle wind blowing his white robe and brown hair until I stood in front of Him. His eyes sparkled with life and love. He smiled—not the distant, solemn smile of the portraits I had seen, but one full of warmth and delight. Without speaking, He reached for my hand.
We started running on the white warm sand with the waves gently lapping the shore. Jesus ran slightly ahead, but never let go. He turned to face me and laughed. I joined in the laughter as we ran freely, kicking up sand behind us.
The sand was soft beneath my feet, the air alive with salt and joy. For the first time in years, I felt light. Unburdened. Free. His presence was not solemn or severe—it was love itself. The same Jesus who wept and bled was also the Jesus who laughed. The same Saviour who bore my pain invited me into bliss.
That moment changed the way I saw Him. The glass that once separated me from His love shattered. He was no longer the unreachable holy figure beyond my grasp. He was the living covenant standing before me—present, joyful, and alive in love.
What would it look like for you to meet Jesus in a place that brings you peace? Can you imagine the expression on His face when He sees you?
It made me realize how easily we hide behind our own versions of glass. We protect ourselves from disappointment, from heartbreak, even from God. We may believe in Him but keep Him at arm’s length, afraid that if we draw too close, He will confirm our deepest fear—that we are not enough, that we are unlovable.
But Jesus came precisely for that fear. The covenant He offers is not based on worthiness. It is rooted in grace. It is a love that does not waver when we doubt or withdraw. It is not a contract with conditions; it is a promise sealed in blood.
The new covenant is not about rules or rituals. It is about relationship. Through Jesus, we become heirs to all of God’s promises. We are no longer servants hoping for approval; we are sons and daughters already loved.
There are still days when rejection tries to reclaim its place—when doubt awakens that old ache. But even then, I remember the laughter on that beach. I remember His hand in mine. I remember the warmth in His eyes. I remember that the covenant stands unbroken.
God’s love is not a feeling that drifts with emotion’s tide—it is a divine vow. Through Jesus, that love takes form: a face, a voice, a heartbeat. The Messiah is not far off but near—in quiet prayer, small mercies, and the deep assurance that we are loved beyond comprehension.
And when I forget, I return to that beach. I imagine the light, the laughter, the invitation. I remember that Love Himself came running toward me.
Glass can be beautiful, even protective. But when it stands between us and God’s love, it becomes a barrier instead of a window. I no longer wanted to stay hidden behind that wall of rejection. Jesus had already broken it. Today, you can step forward—into His healing, His forgiveness, His unending love. Jesus came for the brokenhearted (Luke 4:18 ). He is waiting for us with outstretched arms.
Prayer:
Father, I believe that Jesus is the new covenant—perfect, eternal, and unbreakable. Through His sacrifice, I am an heir to Your promises. You sent Jesus to heal the brokenhearted, and I receive that healing today as your child, a rightful heir to all of your love and blessings. Thank You for Your love that never fades, never fails, and never ends.
Application:
Take a few quiet moments to imagine yourself with Jesus. Choose a place that you enjoy, like the beach, by a lake, in the mountains, etc. Where is He? What is He saying? What does His expression tell you about His love? Let His presence reach the places that still feel unworthy.
Journal prompt:
Are there thoughts that keep you from believing that Jesus died to heal your broken heart? Write them down, but leave a space underneath. Under each negative thought, write down a biblical verse that counters that thought.
Thank you for reading ☺️
To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea
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Such beautiful and profound thoughts!
Love this quote!