Feb 2 (edited) • General discussion
When Love Has No Reference
There are moments in the massage room that never leave you.
One of mine came years ago, in an upscale hotel spa where I happened to be working at the time.
An older woman arrived for her appointment—the first massage of her life. She was country and hard work to the bone. Her hands told stories before she ever opened her mouth. Callouses. Scars. A body shaped by decades of doing what needed to be done.
Her son had arranged the whole trip. He had broken the mold—gone to college, built a successful business—and he wanted to do something beautiful for his mother. The hotel stay. The spa. The massage. All of it paid for.
She told me about the room.
Two full-size beds. Beautiful colors. Soft light. Friendly staff everywhere she turned.
And then she said something that stopped me.
She slept sitting upright, fully dressed, waiting for the other person she assumed the second bed was for.
It never occurred to her that the space was meant entirely for her.
When she came down to the spa, she apologized almost immediately—for her skin, her scars, her callouses. As if her body needed forgiveness before it could be touched.
She enjoyed the first few minutes of the massage, and then every few minutes after that she would say gently,
“That’s enough now.”
“This must be hard on you.”
“This is too much for an old country woman like me.”
Each time, I reassured her.
It was meant for her.
She wasn’t taking anything away from anyone.
And near the end—when the astonishment finally surfaced fully—she asked quietly,
“Do people really do this for each other?”
That question has stayed with me all these years.
Not because she lacked gratitude—but because she lacked reference.
She had lived a life where love was expressed through work, sacrifice, endurance, and usefulness. Love was something you did, not something you rested inside. Receiving without earning felt almost unthinkable.
And suddenly, I see how much this mirrors our relationship with God.
How many of us sit upright in beautiful rooms, waiting for someone else to arrive?
How many of us apologize for our scars before allowing ourselves to be touched?
How often do we interrupt love with, “This is enough,” or “I don’t want to be a burden,” (my personal favorite), or “This is too much for someone like me”?
Not because we are ungrateful—but because we don’t have a reference for love without the DO.
This woman wasn’t resisting kindness.
She was protecting herself from something unfamiliar.
And so are we.
Oil and Wine has always been about this for me—not fixing, not improving, not performing—but learning how to receive care when it feels undeserved, unnecessary, or overwhelming.
Learning how to let love finish what it started.
That woman didn’t need to understand luxury. She needed to experience being cared for without apology.
And maybe that’s true for us too.
Maybe the hardest part of healing isn’t giving love—but believing that it can be given to us, fully paid for, no explanation required.
Where have you found yourself apologizing for care that was freely offered?
Or sitting upright in a space meant for your rest?
Some of you know I’ve been writing through this season in more depth. If this story stirred something in you, I shared a longer reflection on Substack about learning to receive love—without the “do.” I’ll leave the link here for anyone who wants to continue the conversation.
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When Love Has No Reference
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What happens on the massage table—strange, tender, funny, and deeply human stories from the room where people finally exhale.
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