Living with Loren

My phone is ringing for the 12th time. It’s an unknown number, but I know exactly who it is.

I am five and a half months pregnant. I’ve just returned from over 15 hours of travel, and I am exhausted—body aching, mind weary, just wanting to lay down and rest. So I ignore the call.

Maybe 10 minutes pass. Maybe 15. I’m finally dozing off when—BANG. BANG. BANG.

A pit settles in my stomach. I feel nauseous, anxious. I know exactly who it is.

The banging gets louder. Then the voice.

“Loren, enough of this. Open the door. I’m here. I want to do this now.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Breathe. I want to pretend I’m not here, but the pounding won’t stop.

Finally, I say through the door, “Please stop. Please go away.”

“We have gone through rounds and rounds of your apologies, but your behavior never changes. I’m not doing this anymore.”

Silence. Then—my camera feed goes dark. He’s dismantling my security camera.

I finally open the door, not out of fear, but out of frustration. Give me my camera back. He yells. He argues. He makes it all my fault.

And in that moment, I realize: Love God. Love people. It sounds simple until it’s not.

Because sometimes, the people we are called to love are the very ones who hurt us the most.

Sometimes, the love we’ve given—freely, selflessly—gets twisted into something we no longer recognize.

And that’s the hardest part. Because once you’ve loved someone, really loved them, walking away isn’t easy. Even when it’s necessary. Even when God himself is pulling you out, saying, This is not love. This is harm.

It’s easy to say, live like Jesus. But have we really thought about what that means?

Jesus loved without conditions, yes. But Jesus also had boundaries.

He withdrew when he needed rest. (“Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” – Mark 6:31)

He didn’t force himself into places where he wasn’t received. (“If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet.” – Matthew 10:14)

He poured out, but he also replenished. (“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” – Luke 5:16)

And maybe that’s what love really is. Not depletion. Not sacrificing yourself on the altar of someone else’s brokenness. Not losing yourself to save someone who doesn’t want saving.

Jesus loved people. But he never lost himself to do it.

And neither should we.

So what does it mean to love and stay sane?

We love, but we discern. Not everyone should have access to us in the same way.

We give grace, but we don’t enable. Jesus forgave, but he also called people higher.

We serve, but we rest. Even the Son of God took time to replenish.

We love, but we heal. Because sometimes, the hardest love we will ever give is to ourselves.

Maybe that’s what evolution looks like. Learning that love isn’t just about what we give—it’s about how we receive. How we protect. How we walk away when we must, without bitterness, without hate, but with wisdom.

And maybe love—real, God-breathed love—was never meant to drain us.

It was meant to sustain us.

Until Next Time,

Keep Living!

Love, Loren