There was a reel I came across today—a short video, but it stayed with me. A pastor was speaking about the importance of guarding your heart. He described some hearts as highways… wide open, where everyone has access.
That struck something in me.
At the surface, I understood. Those top layers of myself—the ones still healing, still unfolding—remember what it felt like to long for connection. To crave being seen by others before I ever learned how to fully see and acknowledge myself.
I haven’t yet had the chance to test all the new layers I’ve found. But I can feel they’re growing stronger. More rooted. The message continued:
“As followers of Christ, we don’t owe people access. We owe them love.”
That stayed with me too.
And it made me reflect on the many forms love can take.
I thought about work. I genuinely love my job. I love being a bridge between a company’s need and an employee’s request. That duality allows me to lean into creativity—whether through my approach to problem-solving or the small joys of self-expression, even in my work fashion.
I often say an employee is a company’s first customer—and I mean it. My love for those who show up to work every day, most of whom I don’t know personally, feels like a quiet, sacred manifestation of the kind of love the pastor described. The kind of love that doesn’t require closeness, history, or familiarity. The kind that honors people simply because they exist.
I see it in those who care for the sick, who shelter the unhoused—not because they are kin, but because they are human.
That’s love. But love is not the same as access.
The pastor went on to say that access should be earned—through consistency and pure intention.
That made me pause.
Consistency. It’s a word we hear so often, but it carries more weight than we give it credit for. Cambridge defines it as “always behaving or happening in a similar, especially positive way.” It’s not about how many times something happens, but the quality of the behavior over time.
Healthline reports it can take anywhere from 18 to 254 days to form a habit. Popular culture settles on 90. But the truth? Consistency takes time. Presence. Intention. And my soul knows: access should never be rushed.
I kept thinking about why this reel wouldn’t leave me alone. And then it clicked.
My heart had become a highway. Friends and foes alike traveled through, unvetted. I believed I was giving love—and receiving it—when, in truth, I wasn’t doing either. Not really. Not in the way love was meant to be exchanged.
Then I remembered what love really is:
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
It does not envy.
It does not boast.
It does not dishonor others.
It is not self-seeking or easily angered.
It keeps no record of wrongs.Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
That is the kind of love I want to give.
That is the kind of love I want to receive.
That is the kind of love I now believe we are all worthy of.
Not rushed.
Not reckless.
But rooted.
That is the abundance we were meant for.
