Over the past weeks, I heard people talking about love, especially the passionate kind. It led me to wonder how many millions of red roses were purchased and how many bottles of wine were consumed in the traditional effort to highlight and fuel physical attraction, centering around the day of February 14.

But then I thought of all the firy love songs now buzzing over the radio and the pick-up culture that is still alive and well despite encouraged pandemic parameters. And I thought of an essay a student of mine recently wrote about if the size of a man’s anatomical equipment is truly the determining factor in whether or not a romantic relationship should last or fall apart.

And I felt something is out of focus, off balance, not as it was meant to be.

So, I did a bit of studying about the word “passion” to uncover the reason behind my curious feeling.

It turns out that the term has five different meanings in Merriam-Webster. And it is only the fifth — the last — that has anything to do with romantic or sexual love. Long before this word was commonly used in that light, it was more commonly used to refer to the suffering and death of Christ.

The roots of passion and patience are nearly identical and are all tied to suffering. Do we sometimes suffer and give up things we care about for the sake of those we love? Yes. Do we hate to watch those we love suffer? Yes. Do we ache with heartbreak when the love and desire we long for from another goes unrequited? Yes.

But perhaps the most important point of all the observations above is that the pursuit of real love and the central focus of our lives were never meant to be wrapped around ourselves and our own desires, our own driving happiness, our own burning hunger. We were and are meant to be focused on Jesus and His glory, example, sacrifice, patience, self-control, death, victory, magnificence, love.

On His passion.

The start of Lent snuck up on me this year. Ash Wednesday came just three days after Valentine’s Day. This Valentine’s Day was the sweetest I have ever had, the first one spent with a man I will love forever. After our sweet celebration on that day, however, I remembered the words engraved inside each of our wedding rings and shifted my heart right back where it needed to be. Where it needs to stay.

And not just for the Lenten season. But for every day of my life. Jesus as number one, my husband as number two.

And my whole life — every day — to be a reflection upon and of Jesus’ passion for us all.

There’s a great word that isn’t used so much in our vernacular these days.

It can mean to stay for a time or to become a resident in a place. It can also mean to keep one’s attention directed on something or someone or to speak or write continuously about a subject.

Ironically, this word that now means where we live or stay was first used in 13th century middle English based on an old high German word for tarrying but equally evolved from an old English word for going astray.

Reading about this in my dictionary app made me think about how so many life stories include one or more chapters in which we who are living are lost before we are found, are wondering before we find our best path, are distracted before we hone in on goodness.

For those who seek God, even after we find His Goodness in this life, we must journey still, before we reach our true home with Him.

I also smiled as I sketched this word art and noticed that the word well resides in the word dwell.

When we are no longer astray but are dwelling where we are meant to be — when we are home — it is well with us.

And from that heart and soul where we abide with God and His Spirit abides in us, Life will bloom — both here and ever after.