Love: It's Bigger Than Our Brains

Today is my birthday. Instead of sharing a list of lessons learned or how grateful I am to be alive, I want to offer something that might ruffle a few feathers.

If it does, I’d just ask for one thing: Please give me the gift of grace, maybe even a little tolerance. Try to hear this as something coming from my heart, not my head.

Because I want to talk about religion.

More specifically, the kind of religion that’s rooted in fear and shame. The version a lot of us were handed growing up. The one that says love is conditional, and God is basically a cosmic scorekeeper, watching and waiting for us to screw up.

Immature, fear-based religion often starts with shame. It’s rooted in the belief that love is conditional and that God, or whatever higher power we grew up with, is keeping score. The message is something like: “I messed up. I broke the rules. My dad is going to kill me."

That old script tells us we must earn our place and hide our humanity.

And that fear? It doesn’t just keep us from God. It keeps us from ourselves. We start to believe that our mistakes define us. That we’re only lovable if we don’t screw up. If we’re unable to meet some standard of excellence, we’re unworthy.

But a spirituality anchored in grace, in the Gospel of forgiveness, says something entirely different.

It says: “I messed up. I need to call my dad.”

That version doesn’t ignore the mistake—it just doesn’t turn the error into a reason to run and hide. It’s relational, not transactional. It’s about trust.

Knowing there’s a love that isn’t going anywhere, even when we fall flat on our faces.

And that shift? It changes everything. Instead of spiraling into shame, we reach out for connection. Instead of punishment, we open the door to grace. Instead of fear, we move toward love.

Because we will mess up. We’ll say the wrong thing, hurt people, and make choices we wish we hadn’t. But the question isn’t “Will we fail?” It’s, “What happens next?”

And if what happens next is calling our spiritual ‘dad’—our higher power, our inner knowing, our Source—not because we’re trying to avoid punishment, but because we trust there’s still love on the other end of the line… well, that’s what transforms us.

That’s what sets us free.

That’s the Gospel.

Unconditional love with the emphasis on unconditional.

No fine print. No asterisks. No, “only if you interpret the scriptures the way we do.”

And let’s be honest.

That kind of love feels crazy.

But love rare, if ever, makes sense. It’s not logical. Because love, real love, isn’t about logic. Love is not some clean, tidy formula where you do this, and then you get that. Love is not transactional.

It’s way bigger than we know what to do with most days.

Most of us were taught love with conditions. Be good, quiet, helpful, and don’t rock the boat, and then you’ll be accepted. Meet our standards, and then you will be accepted. So when we bump into a love that says you already belong, even in the middle of your mess, our brains kind of short-circuit. Like, wait, what?

But that’s the kind of love that actually changes us.

Not the fear-based stuff.

Not the guilt trips.

Not the shame spirals.

The love that says, yeah, you messed up. Come here. Let’s talk. I’ll listen.

The love that sticks around even when you’re not proud of who you’ve been.

The love that doesn’t just forgive, it delights in you anyway.

And that’s the Gospel. Not some religious checklist, not a scoreboard.

Just this, “No-matter-what” kind of love that says you are adored more than words can say and you can come home now.”

And that kind of love will wreck you in the best way.

It will crack you wide open.

And then it will set you free.