God's love is greater than even now you conceive. The Bible says not simply that "God loves" but also that "God is love" (1 John 4:8, 16). Love, for the God of the Bible, is not one activity among others. Love defines who he is most deeply. A love so great and so free that it could not be contained within the uproarious joy of Father, Son, and Spirit but spilled out to create and embrace finite and fallen humans into it. Divine love is inherently spreading, engulfing, embracing, overflowing. He wants you to know a love that is yours even when you feel undeserving or numb. The love of God is not something to see once and believe and then move beyond to other truths or strategies for growing in Christ. The love of God is what we feed on our whole lives long, wading ever more deeply into this endless ocean. And that feeding, that wading, is itself what fosters growth. Perhaps no passage takes us into the endless love of God for messy sinners as deeply as the end of Ephesians 3. In one of the most spiritually nuclear passages in all the Bible Paul prays to the Father that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith--that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. (Eph. 3:16-19). Here, Paul prays that the Ephesians would be given supernatural power--not power to perform miracles or walk on water or convert their neighbors, but power, such power, the kind that only God himself can give, power to know how much Jesus loves them. Not just to have the love of Christ. To know the love of Christ. The love of Christ is as expansive as God himself. We can underestimate it. We always do. We can never overestimate it. Who are we--weak, faltering, mixed-motives we--to be filled up with the very fullness of God himself? How can the clay be filled with the fullness of the potter, the plant with the fullness of the gardener, the house with the architect? What breathtaking condescension, what astounding dignifying of us. Yet this is not something God relents to do, wishing he could be doing something else. Filling up his fallen people with his own fullness is what he delights to do. And how does he do this? What is the means by which he