I had been away from home and Pipar, our five-month-old puppy, for four days. She stayed with a friend the last night since my husband had to work late. As I arrived to pick her up, I saw them standing outside and Pipar was making friends with the neighbour’s dog. I approached, eager for the reunion, but she didn’t register who I was — at first.
I bent down and she sniffed my hand cautiously. Then she locked eyes with me. You could almost see the realization dawn. Suddenly she exploded into a ball of wiggles, leaping into my arms, covering my neck in frenzied kisses like she couldn’t get close enough.
It was pure, unfiltered joy. Her whole body was conveying “I’m so happy you’re here!”
I’ve been reading Tattoos on the Heart by Greg Boyle, who founded Homeboy Industries to walk alongside former gang members in Los Angeles. Boyle highlights the fierce loyalty and love people carry even in the hardest circumstances — and how those human examples point to something bigger: the boundless love of God.
One story that stayed with me is about a fifteen-year-old boy named Rigo. Through tears, he talks about knowing what it is to be loved. Every Sunday during his sixteen-month sentence, his mother rides seven buses each way just to see him. Seven stops and connections to make, every week. Hours of travel. That is a love that refuses to quit.
If God is defined as love, then surely our best human examples are only echoes of Him. Every moving display of devotion — a puppy’s ecstatic welcome, a mother’s relentless journey — is a small window into the expansive heart of God.
Paul’s letter to the Philippians (Ch 2 verse 6) tells us that Jesus, “though he was God… did not consider equality with God something to hold onto… but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.” He gave up His privilege. He moved toward us. He crossed every distance.
Theologians call this kenosis — self-emptying. But it isn’t cold doctrine. It’s travel. It’s pursuit. It’s God getting on seven buses. It’s God crossing heaven to earth because He simply could not stay away from the people He loves.
And that’s where the Song of Songs comes in. This ancient love poem can feel surprising in the Bible — full of longing, searching, desire, delight. But maybe it’s there because God wants us to understand something: His love isn’t distant or clinical. It’s not mild affection.
It’s passionate. Intentional. Personal. “I sought the one my heart loves.”
These aren’t the words of a reluctant God. They’re the words of a God who wants you.Not tolerates you. Not puts up with you. Not loves you out of duty. God wants you.
Like Pipar’s unbridled joy at my presence.
Like a mother riding seven buses to reach a prison.
Like Christ crossing the universe to reach us.
Over the next few weeks in our series Wanted, we’re going to explore this surprising, beautiful truth: you are deeply desired by God. The Song of Songs invites us to see ourselves more than servants or students, but as beloved.
So here’s the invitation. Slow down enough to notice His pursuit. Let yourself be found. Stop assuming you have to earn what’s already being freely given.
Maybe that looks like coming to worship with an open heart. Maybe it’s setting aside time to pray honestly. Maybe it’s daring to believe — really believe — that God delights in you.
Because the story of Scripture isn’t just that we search for God.It’s that God has been searching for us all along.
And when we finally recognize Him… the only fitting response might just be to run toward Him with the same wild, uncontainable joy as a puppy who knows: My person is here. I’m wanted.