It began with a simple question over coffee.
Her fingers wrapped tightly around a chipped blue mug, steam whispering upward like a prayer. “How do I know if this is the kind of relationship God wants for me?” she asked, eyes darting down at her lap as if even the question felt too big to look in the face.
I didn’t answer right away. Some questions deserve silence before response. The kind that echo in church pews, prayer closets, and bedroom ceilings when the heart can’t sleep.
Instead, I reached for a story.
Not mine. His.
Scripture says in Galatians 5:22–23, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”
These aren’t just nice attributes—they are signs. Markers. Trailheads pointing to whether the soil of a relationship is nourished by the Spirit or something else entirely.
And then there’s Proverbs 4:23, that quiet sentinel of wisdom: “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
I once knew a girl—I’ll call her Anna—who prayed for love but found infatuation instead. He had a smile like Sunday morning light, soft and golden, but no fruit followed him. At first, she laughed more, dreamed more. But slowly, joy gave way to confusion. Peace turned to anxiety. Her laughter skipped fewer days, and prayers felt harder to form.
She came to me with the same question: “Is this love?”
Maybe you’ve felt that too—that stirring in your chest when the butterflies are louder than your discernment. But here’s what I’ve learned: butterflies lie. So do late-night texts that echo hollow in the morning, and apologies that soothe but don’t transform.
When a relationship is rooted in the Spirit, it won’t just feel good—it will produce good. A kind of goodness that doesn't leave you second-guessing your worth. A gentleness that holds your heart not just when you shine, but when you shatter. A faithfulness that mirrors God’s own.
God invites us to guard our hearts, not out of fear, but because our hearts are reservoirs of eternity. Everything flows from there—decisions, dreams, identity. So when it comes to love, Scripture tells us to check the fruit.
Does this love make you more patient, more peaceful? Or does it press you to prove your value?
Does his love mirror Christ’s—selfless, steadfast, steady? Or does it stretch your boundaries until you become someone you don’t recognize?
One day, Anna sat quietly across a sunlit bench and whispered, “I thought love would complete me. But real love doesn’t finish you—it frees you.”
That’s the test. The five you’ll often miss when looking for sparks instead of signs. Love. Joy. Peace. Kindness. Self-control.
They’re not fireworks. They’re fruit.
And though fruit grows slowly, it doesn’t lie.
I told the girl with the chipped mug, “If love makes you more like Jesus, it’s from Him. If it drains your spirit and silences your light, it’s not.”
She nodded, slowly, like someone tasting truth. Still unsure, still tender, but starting to see.
Real love isn’t about finding someone who sweeps you off your feet—it’s about walking beside someone who helps you walk in step with the Spirit. Shoulder to shoulder. Heart to heart. Heavenward.
So, if you’re wondering whether this relationship honors God, don’t just ask how it feels.
Ask what it's growing.
Because that’s what God does best—He grows. Peace. Patience. Purpose. You.
And that’s love worth waiting for.
Maybe this is your chipped-mug moment too.
That’s okay. God’s not in a rush.
He’s in the fruit-bearing. The heart-guarding. The gentle whisper that turns questioning eyes upward.
He’s faithful to lead you.
Every step. Every yes. Every no.
Until love looks like Him.
It began with a simple question over coffee.
Her fingers wrapped tightly around a chipped blue mug, steam whispering upward like a prayer. “How do I know if this is the kind of relationship God wants for me?” she asked, eyes darting down at her lap as if even the question felt too big to look in the face.
I didn’t answer right away. Some questions deserve silence before response. The kind that echo in church pews, prayer closets, and bedroom ceilings when the heart can’t sleep.
Instead, I reached for a story.
Not mine. His.
Scripture says in Galatians 5:22–23, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”
These aren’t just nice attributes—they are signs. Markers. Trailheads pointing to whether the soil of a relationship is nourished by the Spirit or something else entirely.
And then there’s Proverbs 4:23, that quiet sentinel of wisdom: “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
I once knew a girl—I’ll call her Anna—who prayed for love but found infatuation instead. He had a smile like Sunday morning light, soft and golden, but no fruit followed him. At first, she laughed more, dreamed more. But slowly, joy gave way to confusion. Peace turned to anxiety. Her laughter skipped fewer days, and prayers felt harder to form.
She came to me with the same question: “Is this love?”
Maybe you’ve felt that too—that stirring in your chest when the butterflies are louder than your discernment. But here’s what I’ve learned: butterflies lie. So do late-night texts that echo hollow in the morning, and apologies that soothe but don’t transform.
When a relationship is rooted in the Spirit, it won’t just feel good—it will produce good. A kind of goodness that doesn't leave you second-guessing your worth. A gentleness that holds your heart not just when you shine, but when you shatter. A faithfulness that mirrors God’s own.
God invites us to guard our hearts, not out of fear, but because our hearts are reservoirs of eternity. Everything flows from there—decisions, dreams, identity. So when it comes to love, Scripture tells us to check the fruit.
Does this love make you more patient, more peaceful? Or does it press you to prove your value?
Does his love mirror Christ’s—selfless, steadfast, steady? Or does it stretch your boundaries until you become someone you don’t recognize?
One day, Anna sat quietly across a sunlit bench and whispered, “I thought love would complete me. But real love doesn’t finish you—it frees you.”
That’s the test. The five you’ll often miss when looking for sparks instead of signs. Love. Joy. Peace. Kindness. Self-control.
They’re not fireworks. They’re fruit.
And though fruit grows slowly, it doesn’t lie.
I told the girl with the chipped mug, “If love makes you more like Jesus, it’s from Him. If it drains your spirit and silences your light, it’s not.”
She nodded, slowly, like someone tasting truth. Still unsure, still tender, but starting to see.
Real love isn’t about finding someone who sweeps you off your feet—it’s about walking beside someone who helps you walk in step with the Spirit. Shoulder to shoulder. Heart to heart. Heavenward.
So, if you’re wondering whether this relationship honors God, don’t just ask how it feels.
Ask what it's growing.
Because that’s what God does best—He grows. Peace. Patience. Purpose. You.
And that’s love worth waiting for.
Maybe this is your chipped-mug moment too.
That’s okay. God’s not in a rush.
He’s in the fruit-bearing. The heart-guarding. The gentle whisper that turns questioning eyes upward.
He’s faithful to lead you.
Every step. Every yes. Every no.
Until love looks like Him.
