I almost titled this post Is it Normal not to Feel God’s Love? But “normal” is a funny word. Our inner lives aren’t standardized. We each experience relationships—including our relationship with God—in very different ways. And that word relationship is complicated. When two people relate, there are gestures, words, and the kind of eye contact that tells you something real is happening. With God, that two-way sense of connection is often harder to understand. At least it has been for me.
Over the years, I’ve heard people talk about feeling God’s love in deep, personal, even mystical ways—moments when they felt wrapped in God’s presence or moved by a sense of divine closeness. That hasn’t been my experience. It’s not that I doubt God’s love. I just don’t often feel it in the overwhelming way some describe.
I know what overwhelming love feels like. I’ve lived it. I’ve received it from two people in particular: my wife, Judi, and my father. Their love has reached depths that words can’t fully capture. I have been loved by many people, including my siblings, children, and friends, but I want to emphasize two special ones.
Almost from the beginning of our dating, and even now, there are moments when I glance over during a movie—at the theatre or at home—and Judi is looking at me instead of the screen. There’s a tenderness in her eyes that reaches all the way in. It’s a silent “I love you” that goes straight to the core.
And my father… I can still picture moments with him that I carry like sacred treasures.
One night at one of my son’s hockey games, I looked over and caught him staring at me with an intensity that stopped me. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “I love you.” It wasn’t the words—it was his gaze. Another moment came the night before he unexpectedly passed away. He placed both hands on my shoulders, looked me directly in the eyes, and said, “I love you. You’re a good son.” Those moments have stayed with me in ways that feel almost mystical.
These are the kinds of moments I long to feel from God. And they don’t happen, at least not anywhere near as often as I would hope for. Saying that feels almost ungrateful. Jesus suffered and died for me—shouldn’t that alone overwhelm me? And yes, there have been a few times when the reality of Jesus’ sacrifice has brought me to tears—especially watching The Passion of the Christ. But those moments don’t seem to sustain me the way Judi’s look or my father’s voice did.
Why not? Why can’t I feel God’s love at that level more often? Is it something I’m failing to do? Do I not pray enough? Seek enough? Believe enough?
If I’m honest, I’m good at criticizing myself when it comes to faith. Judi would confirm that. But I don’t love my sons based on how perfectly they return love to me. Why would God love me any less steadily? I am God’s child. His love is deeper than anything I’ve ever given or received. So why can’t I feel it in the same way?
When I sit with that question, I find myself returning to a simple realization:
My ability or inability to sense God’s love probably says more about me than it does about God.
Human beings naturally long to feel loved. It’s normal to want mystical moments. But maybe—just maybe—some of us put too much emphasis on the feeling rather than the knowing.
Maybe God’s love isn’t always something that rushes in like a wave. Maybe it’s something steadier, quieter, already present whether I notice it or not. Maybe God’s love comes through blessings I overlook, the people who carry me, the promises of Scripture, the quiet nudge of grace, and the persistent truth that Jesus gave His life for us.
I’m learning that love doesn’t stop being real just because it doesn’t come wrapped in intense emotion. Sometimes love is something we rest in—not something we feel all at once.
And maybe trusting that is its own kind of faith.
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Very nice….
Thank you.
Thanks for your thoughtful commentary on our human condition.
What came to mind is that God being love, in such moments as you describe, in our relationships with others, in the giving and receiving, we are experiencing God’s love. As fleeting as they are, they are a reminder of what is most important in life. While we may forget, caught up in worldly things or perhaps not wanting to feel the pain of their loss, they are there as an integral part of who we are – eternal though distant in time.
Beyond that would be the reality of our personal existence itself. We do not bring ourselves into being, although we do particpate in making of our lives what we will from our given circumstances. This mystery of our finite consciousness, usually caught up in whatever it is we are doing in the moment, as a relational spiritual phenomenon, can be understood as resting on that which exists between ourselves as creatures, and our Creator, who knows and loves us through and through. Perhaps one way to imagine ourselves as being like bubbles within an infinite Sea of Compassion.
We are loved, but may be distracted by those relationships in life where we let one another down and make ourselves feel unworthy and less of ourselves.
Thanks for this opportunity to share.
Thanks Louis for taking the time to share your thoughts. I love your image of us being like bubbles within an infinite Sea of Compassion.