Rooted in Love

A Reflection on Lasting Peace, Deep Trust, and the Centre That Holds

The Hunger Beneath It All

Most of us, at some point, come face to face with the truth that much of what we cling to doesn’t last.
People come and go.
Plans unravel.
Even the things we’ve loved most deeply—positions, relationships, identities—eventually ask to be let go.

This isn’t a cause for despair. It’s a call to look again at where we’re rooted.
To ask: What truly holds when nothing else can?

The answer, for many who walk the path of faith, is not a theory or belief—it’s a living relationship. Not with a system. Not with a distant God. But with the presence of Divine Love that is always drawing us home.

Some of us know this presence as Christ. Others have glimpsed it in silence, in suffering, in nature, in the still small moments that refuse to be explained away.
Whatever name we give it, the essence is the same: it is the love that does not let go.

Letting Go of What Cannot Hold

It’s natural to reach for comfort in the things we can touch and control. But slowly, gently, life teaches us: if we lean too hard on what is temporary, we fall when it falls.

This doesn’t mean we stop loving people or participating in the world. But it does mean we stop asking created things to do what only the Creator can—hold us completely.

When we root ourselves in the Source—when our peace and identity begin to flow from that deeper well—we become more stable, more present, more free. We’re less thrown by life’s changes because we’re no longer looking to them to prove our worth.

This inner anchoring isn’t about detachment. It’s about realignment.
It’s about loving without clinging, giving without losing ourselves, trusting without conditions.

The Nature of Real Love

One of the most misunderstood aspects of spiritual maturity is the kind of love it asks of us.

It isn’t sentimental.
It isn’t selective.
It isn’t based on how useful or pleasant something—or someone—is.

The kind of love we’re invited into is faithful, spacious, and clear.
It does not compete with other desires—it reshapes them.
It doesn’t dominate—it dwells.
It doesn’t demand submission—it invites surrender.

This love doesn’t just want to visit us in moments of need. It wants to take up residence—becoming the heartbeat beneath everything else we do. And as we make space for it, we begin to notice a quiet inner shift.

We need less from the world, and offer more to it.
We become less reactive, more rooted.
Less afraid of losing, more able to live.

When Trust Runs Deep

Those who have walked this path a long time often speak of a trust that grows over time—not because life gets easier, but because they’ve come to know who walks beside them.

This trust isn’t blind. It’s earned, slowly, in the quiet hours of prayer, in the moments of surrender, in the long nights of not knowing—and finding they are still held.

This is the kind of trust Jesus lived from. And the kind he invited others into—not a religion about him, but a way of living rooted in love, humility, forgiveness, and deep inner peace.
It’s not about worshipping him from a distance.
It’s about walking the same path he walked—toward union with God.

Living from the Centre

In the end, the spiritual life is not about belief systems or outward appearances. It’s about what we’re aligned with when no one’s watching.

Are we being moved by love or fear?
Are we seeking comfort or growth?
Are we living from ego or essence?

When we centre ourselves in Divine Love—whatever form that takes for us—we begin to live with a kind of holy steadiness. We find joy that doesn’t need a reason. We find peace that can’t be shaken by circumstance.

And perhaps most importantly, we become safe places for others. Not because we’ve become perfect, but because we’ve become real.

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A Closing Invitation

You don’t need to prove anything.
You don’t need to cling to what is passing.
You don’t even need to have the answers.

You only need to return—to love.
To presence.
To the place where your soul is held without condition.

This love is already here.
Waiting.
Wanting to dwell, not just visit.
Will you make space?

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