Month 5: Making Jesus My First Love

You wouldn't know it—because I spent all of August writing about July, and all of September procrastinating like a true author—but August was another resolution month. I called it my month of "Making Jesus my first love."

Late in the summer, I listened to a Sunday school teacher at my church deliver a message of beautiful simplicity: bring the Christian life back to the essentials. Love Jesus above all else. As someone who enjoys getting tangled up in apologetics, ancient Greek translations, and archeological digs of Christian sites, this emotional request to "make Jesus my first love" felt too simple to be convicting.

Of course I love Jesus.

But, then again, what do people do when they love each other? More importantly, what do people do when they're in that dizzy state of "first love"?

I thought back to some boys I've admired.

My childhood crushes were locked up tighter than state secrets - dying of embarrassment seeming more likely than dying of heart break. But then one day, I guess my eyes opened and I realized I couldn’t blame anyone for laughing – my taste is hilarious. Presently, it’s been years since I’ve had a boyfriend, but my love life remains comedy gold. And, after extensive experience in both crying and laughing over boys, I can confidently say that laughing is more pleasurable.

A good sheep makes everything better.

But those unwitting crushes? A single text could fuel a week-long smile. No exaggeration—my college roommate has the trauma to prove it. I've read old messages until my eyes crossed, preserved voicemails longer than an Egyptian mummy, and daydreamed elaborate future scenarios that always involved suspiciously large amounts of livestock.

Jesus and my hypothetical future husband aren't a perfect analogy—one of them is invisible.

Maybe both are invisible.

But do I approach Jesus with anything remotely resembling this dedication and joy? Do I daydream about heaven so excitedly? Surely, there are sheep there, too. Can I hardly wait to talk to him again? I can wait. I frequently have. I have a whole book of messages from God, packed with poetry, adventure, forgiveness, guidance, discipline, and love. Do I get the same stupid grin while reading scripture? Not really. (well, I give myself a pass on the violent parts because, obviously, smiling to those would be weird).

Though sometimes I feel that I am going through the motions more than feeling deep spiritual connection with God, I didn’t leave that teaching feeling guilty. I left with desire. I wanted to want that deep, happy, consuming relationship with the Lord. I wanted to feel so excited about God that I'd anticipate prayer and scripture like a lovesick teenager. It felt like that guy in Mark: "I believe, Lord, help my unbelief"—caught in the preface of the book, knowing there was so much better ahead.

August's resolutions were simple:

1. Get on my knees and pray at the foot of my bed at least once daily

2. Read one chapter of scripture daily

   
   

I love low bars, and thanks to my exercise resolution, once I was on my knees, it took a little longer to get up.

I also read Tolkien’s “The Silmarillion” in August, which was perfect timing – there are very few books that move slower or whose facts get more hopelessly tangled. The Gospel of John felt like a breath of fresh air by comparison and had the added bonus of being… real.

I felt more connected to God. Not drastically, but noticeably. I'd catch myself thinking about the previous night's prayers during mundane Monday moments – which felt like progress.

That's where I am now. I'm not the lovesick fool I can sometimes be, but for someone who frequently approaches Jesus like a theology textbook, I'd call this a pretty great first step.