Sometimes I can’t believe what has happened in a whole day. Sometimes I can’t believe how fast a whole day flies. Regardless of my feelings, every whole is also a part. Each whole day is a part of a week. A whole week is just a part of a month. A whole month is just part of a year. Even a whole life is just a blip in the cosmos.
Maybe whole isn’t about amount or time or anything other than the way in which we live. Maybe we can show up to each part of everything with our whole selves, the entirety of our being. It’s easier to be concerned about time, concerned about amount; it’s much harder to be a whole person.
It seems that love requires that wholeness. My children aren’t interested in my partial attention or adoration, and neither is a my husband. They’re interested in my loving them fully, wholly, completely. This requires more of me: it requires all of me.
God asks for this sort of wholehearted devotion – love him with our whole hearts, minds and strength. Love him completely.
But like all good, worthwhile relationships – this requires much and gives even more.