Love that Feels Like Home

I used to think love should be loud.

With signs. With urgency.

With something dramatic enough to convince me it was real.

But God had other plans.

The love He introduced into my life did not shout.

It whispered.

And somehow, that whisper carried more weight than all the noise I had known before.

“God is in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but He is also in the still small voice.”

And that is exactly how this love showed up. Quiet. Steady. Sure.

It didn’t arrive trying to impress me.

It didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

It didn’t rush me into something my heart wasn’t ready for.

It came gently.

And I later realized that gentleness was not weakness.

It was fruit.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness…”

I saw those fruits long before I saw the romance.

We met in the most ordinary way.

No divine lightning.

No instant certainty.

Just two people talking, laughing, learning each other slowly.

And there was ease which felt unfamiliar to me.

I had grown used to love that kept me anxious.

Love that needed fixing.

Love that felt like work.

This one felt different.

It felt safe.

And safety, I learned, is not accidental.

It is intentional. It is cultivated. It is God-led.

He listened. Truly listened.

He paid attention to my silences.

He respected my pace.

And in all of this, I could see God teaching me something.

Love does not rush what God is still healing.

There were moments I pulled back.

Old patterns don’t disappear overnight.

I had learned how to guard my heart very well, sometimes too well.

Trust felt risky. Hope felt dangerous.

But he never made me feel guilty for being careful.

Instead, he met me where I was. Just as God always does.

One day, without fanfare, I noticed something had shifted.

My heart was no longer bracing for disappointment. It was resting.

That was when I understood.

Peace is confirmation.

“And let the peace of God rule in your hearts…”

There was no dramatic confession. No pressure.

Just honesty, spoken softly, with reverence.

“I care about you.”

Not manipulation. Not control. Not fear-driven attachment.

Just truth.

And I chose to trust God enough to believe that love, when led by Him, does not need to hurt to be real.

This kind of love does not try to replace God.

It points you back to Him.

It grows in prayer. In patience. In obedience.

If love ever finds you this way, hold it gently. Cover it in prayer.

Let God lead the pace.

Some love stories are loud. Others are holy.

And the holiest ones often feel like home.