The Love That Pursues: If God Wrote You a Valentine

In a world obsessed with romance, the book of Ruth has been quietly reframing love for us.

In Part 1, we watched Naomi and Ruth walk through grief hand in hand. Theirs was a love that stayed when it would have been easier to leave. Faithful love. Covenant love. The kind of love that doesn’t look glittery, but remains.

In Part 2, we saw Ruth and Boaz model a love that redeems rather than consumes. A love rooted in righteousness, dignity, and protection. A love that restores instead of takes.

But Ruth isn’t just a story about human relationships. It’s a story all about God.

February always seems to make love feel loud. Roses, cards, little teddy bears that hold hearts saying, “I love you beary much.” For some, it’s sweet. For others, it exposes what feels missing. It stirs longing, disappointment, or even indifference we don’t quite know what to do with. Even those who are loved well can feel a pull not just for affection, but for assurance. Not just to be desired, but to be kept.

We long to be chosen. To be pursued. To be seen—not just romantically, but fully.

That longing isn’t wrong, shallow, or accidental. It’s human and ancient. It’s the echo of Eden, the memory of being fully known and fully secure. We often try to replicate that kind of love in our relationships, but that weight was never meant to be carried by people alone.

What if the deeper ache beneath those expectations is actually spiritual?

What if God has been writing to you all along—patiently, faithfully, and far more personally than you realized?

I mentioned it before, but it’s wild to me how quiet God is in the book of Ruth. He never speaks directly. No burning bushes. No thunderous declarations. And yet—He’s everywhere in this story.

He’s working through famine and loss.

Through obedience that looks ordinary and mundane.

Through waiting that feels painful and endless.

There’s a phrase that shows up in some fashion at least three times in this book:

As it turned out, she was working in a field belonging to Boaz…

Ruth 2:3, emphasis mine

As it turned out.

Divine providence disguised as a coincidence. Care that looks like chance. Redemption unfolding quietly. God never absent, only unseen. What looks random to us is intentional to Him. When you step back and look again, you can see it:

Naomi and her husband moved to a city forbidden by God. As it turned out, her son met and married Ruth.

Her husband and sons die, leaving Ruth with the choice to stay with Naomi or go back home. As it turned out, their faithful love was forged in grief.

Ruth went to work in a field that, as it turned out, was owned by a man named Boaz.

Boaz, as it turned out, was a kinsman-redeemer of Naomi’s family.

Ruth asks Boaz to protect and commit to her. He goes to the city gates to start the legal process of redeeming her. As it turned out, the man who had the first legal right to do so just so happened to be there at the same time. He doesn’t want to live out a sacrificial love, so gives the opportunity over to Boaz.

Boaz and Ruth get married and have a son. As it turned out, they were the great-grandparents of King David.

And as it turned out, Jesus came from the line of King David.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.

Romans 8:28

None of it was random. When you trace the story backward, you begin to notice something: the love that stays, the love that redeems—both are reflections of a deeper love. God’s relentless, pursuing love was moving behind the scenes the whole time.

I told you in Part 2 that Boaz wasn’t the end of the story. He was just a signpost. A go’el—a kinsman-redeemer—pointing us forward to the greater Redeemer.

Do you remember the three requirements of a kinsman-redeemer?

He had to be close enough, willing enough, and able to pay the cost.

Jesus stepped into our poverty and shame by becoming like us. He made Himself our close relative by becoming man. He paid the price of our redemption with His own blood. He willingly laid down His life for us.

Just like Boaz, He makes outcasts covenant daughters. He restores dignity. He invites us to share in abundance at His table. He protects, covers, and redeems.

“For your Maker is your husband—the Lord Almighty is His name.”

Isaiah 54:5

Oh friend, this isn’t distant love. This is covenant love.

Ruth’s story isn’t just history—it’s an invitation.

God still draws wanderers home.

God still redeems outsiders.

God still writes love stories through ordinary faithfulness.

And maybe the love you’ve been hoping for has been pursuing you all along.

My beloved,

I saw you when you thought no one noticed. Long before you learned how to be strong. I saw you when you felt invisible, when your faith felt fragile, when obedience cost you more than it comforted you. I saw your quiet faithfulness, the small yeses, the tears you wiped away when no one was watching. I was there in the moments you thought didn’t matter. The ones no one applauded.

I stayed when you felt abandoned. When others left. When love felt conditional or inconsistent. When your prayers felt unanswered. My presence didn’t leave just because you couldn’t feel it. You haven’t spent a single minute without Me.

I redeemed what you thought was wasted. Nothing you handed to Me was lost. No season was meaningless. No pain was overlooked. Nothing was for nothing.

You aren’t behind.

You aren’t forgotten.

You aren’t overlooked.

I have been working in ways you couldn’t see, writing redemption into places you thought were endings. I have been protecting you when you didn’t even know you needed covering.

Have you felt the warmth of the sun on chill days? Have you counted the stars in the sky? Have you noticed the flowers that bloom in spring? I made all of that for you.

You are so beautiful. I crafted you perfectly.

I chose you—not because you were perfect or impressive. But because you have been Mine since the very beginning. And you will stay Mine until the very end.

I haven’t loved you from afar. I came to you. I stepped into time, into flesh, into the weight of this world because distance was never My desire. I knew the cost, and I paid it willingly. Did you know that I saw your face while I hung on the cross? I had your name written on My heart. I endured the suffering and the shame, because My love couldn’t stay safe when I knew you would be coming. I chose death so you would never doubt how far I’m willing to go to bring you home.

You belong to Me. In your grief, in your waiting, in your questions.

Not temporarily. Not conditionally. But by My promise, My covenant, My hesed.

You don’t have to try to earn My love.

You already have it.

Love, God

Loving Father, quiet my heart long enough to recognize Your nearness. I confess how often I look for love in loud places, and how easily I forget that You have been steady all along. Meet me in the places where I feel unseen. Redeem what I’ve labeled wasted. Help me trust that even when I can’t trace Your hand, Your love is still at work in my story. Teach me to rest in what You’ve already spoken over me. Let Your love be the place I return to, the place I finally exhale. I receive what You’ve been offering all along. Amen.