Day 156

1 Chronicles 23–24 | 1 Corinthians 13

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Today, my daughter got braces.

It’s a rite of passage for many kids. A necessary step toward a straighter smile. But for a 13-year-old girl, it can feel like a mouthful of metal—tight, painful, awkward.

When she and Talacey came home from the appointment, Sophia didn’t say much. She just looked at me and asked, “Daddy, will you take me to get mac and cheese?”

So we went. Just the two of us.

And as we sat there in the booth, I didn’t see a girl with swollen gums and a tender mouth.

I saw beauty. Dignity. Radiance.

Not just on the outside, but in her kindness. Her joy. Her innocence. Her love for Jesus. Her clever wit and tender spirit. Her sensitivity to others and her delight in truth.

And in that moment, I was reminded:

Love isn’t flashy. It’s faithful.

It’s not always poetic or romantic.

It’s not just for weddings or anniversaries either.

Sometimes it just looks like being present.

Sometimes it looks like mac and cheese.

What Love Really Means

1 Corinthians 13 is one of the most quoted chapters in Scripture—and one of the most misunderstood.

We usually hear it recited at weddings, wrapped in roses and candlelight, as if Paul wrote it for starry-eyed couples.

But he didn’t write it for husbands and wives.

He wrote it for the church.

For people who sing, preach, serve, and give—but who often forget what matters most.

Paul says you can speak with angelic eloquence. Understand every doctrine. Give away every dollar. Even die for the cause.

But if you don’t have love?

You are nothing.

Not less impressive. Not less fruitful.

Nothing.

Because love isn’t just what you feel. It’s what you do.

“Love is patient and kind. It does not envy or boast. It is not arrogant or rude. It is not irritable or resentful.” (vv. 4–5)

Love notices.

Listens.

Waits.

Believes.

Endures.

Love doesn’t shrink back when someone feels awkward or unsure.

Love doesn’t retreat from brace-face moments.

Love slides into the booth and says, “Order whatever you want, princess. And I’ll make sure they bring extra cheese sauce.”

The Love That’s Been Given to Me

The only reason I can love my daughter this way is because I’ve been loved this way first.

By a Father who never flinches at my frailty.

Who isn’t impressed by my gifting—but is moved by my need.

Who sees me at my ugliest—and still calls me His.

That’s the love I want Sophia to know.

That her beauty is not in a mirror or a smile.

It’s in being made in the image of a God who loves patiently. Faithfully. Eternally.

That braces don’t diminish her value.

Nor do my flaws diminish mine.

Because God’s love isn’t based on performance or polish.

It’s based on promise. A binding, blood-bought promise He made in Christ.

And that kind of love?

It changes how we sit across the table.

It shows up in small booths and soft foods.

It pulls close in moments of insecurity.

It whispers dignity into hearts that feel unsure.

It doesn’t draw attention to itself. It doesn’t demand praise.

It just stays. And serves. And sees.

That’s the kind of love I want to offer—not just as a dad. But as a disciple.

Because that’s the kind of love that changes people.

And it’s the kind of love that changed me.

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Lord, thank You for loving me with a love that is patient, kind, and unwavering—even when I feel anything but lovely. Teach me to love like You do: not just with my words or intentions, but with my presence. Help me reflect that love to my family, to Your Church, and to a world aching to be seen. Amen.