GOD SAYS IT’S HIM BUT I DON’T LOVE HIM!

I still remember the day it all started.

 

I had prayed for years, “Lord, plant me in Your will.”

 

Then one night, I had a dream, vivid, clear. And in that dream was Andrew.

 

He was someone I respected deeply. We served in the same church unit. He was good, kind, hard-working, loved God. Our parents were friends. He seemed… perfect.

 

So when, a few weeks later, Andrew came with a proposal, my heart shook. It looked like divine confirmation. “Lord, You have spoken,” I whispered. The dream had come true. How could it not be You?

 

I said yes.

 

But, day in day out, love did not rise.

 

At first, I thought it was nerves. Then I thought it was pride. Then fear. I fasted. I prayed. I cried. I opened my Bible and said, “Lord, please, put love in my heart. Let me love this man You’ve chosen for me.”

 

But the more I prayed, the more repulsion I felt. I could not explain it. 

 

When he called, I would sigh. 

 

When he texted, irritation filled me. 

 

When he tried to hold my hand during prayer, I would stiffen like a rock. 

 

And the guilt! Oh my! I felt like I was fighting God.

 

Andrew checked every box. He was handsome, godly, responsible, gentle, financially stable. 

 

Yet I could not picture life with him. I didn’t want him to be seen with me in public. I couldn’t like show him off. Something in me recoiled.

 

One night I fell on my knees and cried, “Lord, am I broken? Why am I like this?” 

 

I thought maybe I needed deliverance. 

 

Maybe I was being too carnal. I just knew something wasn’t right.

 

That was when I went to see Mama Grace.

 

Mama Grace’s room felt like peace itself. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, and her Bible lay open beside her as sunlight poured through the window. I sat before her, my heart heavy, my fingers knotted together. She looked up slowly, her eyes kind but firm.

 

“Talk to me, my daughter,” she said softly.

 

I told her everything. The dream. The proposal. The guilt. The emptiness. I talked until my voice broke, until I had nothing more to say. She listened in silence, then closed her Bible gently and said,

 

“Beauty, my child, why would you want to go into a marriage, a forever covenant, with someone you do not love?”

 

Her words pierced through me. I looked down, confused.

 

“But Mama,” I whispered, “I thought love would come later. I thought the main thing was that God said it.”

 

She sighed deeply, shaking her head. “My daughter, love is not an afterthought. Love is not a decoration for marriage. It is the foundation of it. Yes, sometimes at the beginning the affection may not be strong, but as you pray, before the courtship even starts or at the early inception, as you begin to walk together in understanding, the affection must rise. It must come. It is the proof that peace has found its way into your heart.”

 

I nodded slowly, tears forming in my eyes. “But Mama, he is such a good man. Everyone says so. He loves God. He is kind, humble, steady. He seems perfect.”

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She smiled gently. “Then he will make a good brother in Christ. A wonderful man of God. But not every good man is your husband. Marriage is not a church fellowship, Beauty dear. It is not just prayer and work for God. It is heart meeting heart, flesh joining flesh, soul joining soul. You will wake beside this man every morning for the rest of your life. He will touch you. He will hold you. You will share the same air, the same space, the same pillow. How will you bear that closeness if your spirit does not rest with him? How can you call that peace?”

 

I covered my face, weeping. “But Mama, I had a dream. I saw it clearly. He came to propose, and it happened exactly as I saw.”

 

She leaned forward, her voice tender but strong. “My daughter, dreams are real, but they are not the foundation of truth. God speaks through dreams, yes, but dreams must be tested by His Word and His peace. Elijah saw the wind, the earthquake, and the fire, but the Lord was not in them. Then came the still small voice. That voice is the one you must seek. If the dream comes and peace does not follow, stop and pray again. Signs without peace are not from God.”

 

I looked up at her, trembling. “So the dream might not have been God’s voice?”

 

She nodded slowly. “Dreams can come from the mind, from fear, from desire, even from the enemy. God’s voice is known by its fruit. The fruit of His leading is peace, love, and joy. Not confusion, not dread, not dryness. If you keep praying and still feel emptiness, then it is mercy that is speaking to you. The Lord is saving you from sorrow.”

 

She paused, then looked at me intently. “Beauty, let me tell you something many daughters don’t understand. The danger of not knowing God’s voice early is that when marriage time comes, you start trying to hear Him by force. You create what I call emergency hearing solutions.”

 

I blinked.

 

She continued, “You never learned to recognize His whisper in your daily walk, you never trained your heart to discern His peace when He corrects or comforts you. Then suddenly, when a man appears, you want to hear God overnight. That is dangerous. In the rush, your emotions can speak louder than His Spirit, and you may call your own desires His voice.”

 

She opened her Bible to John 10. “Jesus said, ‘My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.’ It means His voice is not strange to those who walk with Him. You don’t start learning His voice because of marriage; you know it long before marriage. When you live close to Him daily, you will not panic when a proposal comes. You will know His tone.”

 

Tears filled my eyes again. “Mama, I think that’s what happened to me. I was desperate to hear something from God, so when I saw the dream, I took it as His voice.”

 

She nodded. “Many have done the same. They want God’s approval more than His direction. They want a sign from Him and not a relationship. But remember dear, the devil can arrange signs too. He can copy the handwriting but thank God, he cannot forge true peace. Every peace he manufactures will be faulty at the roots! That is why true, complete peace is the test of God’s presence.”

 

She reached for my hands. “My child, don’t build your marriage on emergency hearing. Build it on intimacy with God. Learn His heart before you start asking for His hand. Then when He speaks, you will know.”

 

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. “Thank you mama. But, erm, another thought I have is, what if it is my pride that is rejecting him? What if I am the problem?”

 

She smiled again, this time with deep compassion. “Then take it to God. Tell Him to break your pride. Tell Him to purify your heart. Lay the man on the altar and say, ‘Lord, if this is truly You, give me peace and holy affection.’ But if after you have surrendered everything your heart still feels nothing but strain, then take it as mercy. God’s love sometimes speaks by restraint. He will not hand His daughter over to torment and call it His will.”

 

She reached out and held my hand. Her palm was warm, her grip strong. “My dear child, God is not the author of confusion. His will never tastes bitter. It might be challenging at first, but inside it there will be calm. Do not call pain obedience. Do not call confusion holiness. God’s will brings peace. It births love. It does not steal rest from your heart.”

 

I sat there, weeping quietly, her words sinking deep into my soul like gentle rain. She squeezed my hand once more. “Go home,” she said softly. “Pray again, but this time tell God the truth. Tell Him you do not love this man. He is your Father. He knows already. Ask Him to scatter it if it is not His plan. And if it is truly His will, ask Him to fill you with His love for the man. You will know. His peace will not hide.”

 

I nodded, tears flowing freely now. “Thank you, Mama.”

 

She smiled. “It is well, my child. The Lord does not drag His daughters to the altar. He leads them there with joy. Trust His heart and wait for Him!”

.

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I left Mama Grace’s house trembling. Her words followed me like a river of truth, washing away every stubborn thought I had held onto. The evening air felt strange on my face, calm yet heavy. I walked home slowly, replaying every sentence.

 

“God’s will never tastes bitter.”

 

“Peace is the proof of His presence.”

 

“You can’t marry someone you don’t love.”

 

“God’s love sometimes speaks by restraint.”

 

“He will not hand His daughter over to torment and call it His will”

 

Those words echoed in my spirit. For the first time in weeks, I was not afraid to face my own confusion.

 

When I got home, my mother was waiting. She looked at me, and in her eyes, I saw both concern and love. “Beauty, you’ve been quiet these days. What is going on?”

 

I sat beside her and broke down. The tears came like rain. I told her everything. The dream, the proposal, the guilt, the emptiness, and my visit to Mama Grace. My mother listened quietly, her hands resting gently on my shoulder.

 

When I finished, she took a deep breath and said softly, “Let’s pray.”

 

We knelt together in the middle of the room. The light from the small lamp flickered on the wall. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I whispered, my voice trembling, “Father, if this is not Your will, scatter it. I would rather be alone in Your peace than married in confusion. Break what You did not build, my Father. Let Your will, not mine, stand.”

 

My mother’s voice followed, calm and firm. “Lord, You see our hearts. You see her pain. If this path is not Yours, close the door in mercy. If it is Yours, confirm it by peace and love. Do not let my daughter enter a covenant You are not in. Deliver her from emotional blindness. Rescue her from deception. Give her rest.”

 

I cried until I could no longer find words. My chest ached, but something deep inside me was unclenching. I felt like I was finally breathing again.

 

That night, I did not try to force anything. I stopped pretending. I didn’t repeat “God said” to silence my own unrest. I just lay still before Him and said, “Lord, let Your peace rule my heart.”

 

Days passed quietly. I no longer prayed for the relationship to work. I only prayed for His will. I wrote in my journal, “Father, I will not drag what You are not in. Let my life follow Your peace.”

 

Then one afternoon, my phone rang. It was Andrew.

 

His voice was gentle but serious. 

 

“Beauty,” he said, “I’ve been praying too. The more I prayed, the less peace I had. I wanted it to work, but God keeps telling me to release you.”

 

For a moment, I could not breathe. Then tears filled my eyes….. of gratitude.

 

“Thank You, Lord,” I whispered. “Thank You for saving me from myself.”

 

When I hung up, I fell on my knees. The tears came again, but this time they were different. They were clean. They were peaceful.

 

That night I wrote in my journal again:

“Perfect love casts out fear. God’s will is not torment. His leading brings peace, not pressure. His voice leaves calm, not confusion. I thought obedience meant suppressing my peace, but obedience is peace itself.”

 

In the weeks that followed, I felt a freedom I had not known before. I began to understand that God’s mercy is not only in what He gives, but also in what He breaks. Some things must fall apart so your life can align again.

 

A year later, when love came again, it came quietly.

 

Not with thunder, not with drama like oh was with Andrew. Just a soft kind of knowing.

 

By then, I had stopped chasing confirmations and started learning how to walk with God daily. Every morning, I would talk to Him. Some days I prayed, some days I cried, some days I just sat still. No pressure. No checklist. Just a girl and her Father.

 

Somewhere in that routine, something changed. His presence became familiar. I started to recognize when He was near. When I read the Word, verses didn’t just look like lines on paper anymore. They came alive. Dreams became clearer. The confusion that used to cloud my hearing started fading. I started hearing my Father better.

 

And then one day, Daniel came.

 

It wasn’t a surprise. There had been small nudges along the way. There was a verse that kept repeating itself, a trance, a certain calm I couldn’t explain. It was gentle, like God had been preparing me for him for months.

 

Daniel wasn’t even the kind of man I used to imagine. But he was peace!

 

He was peace!

 

His words didn’t make me cringe. His presence didn’t make me shrink. There was this quiet flow, like two rivers meeting.

 

Daniel didn’t try to impress me, yet I was impressed.

 

He didn’t try to sound deep, yet his love for my Father and I ran deep.

 

He didn’t promise heaven and earth, but somehow, I felt like heaven was right there when we prayed.

 

The more I prayed, the clearer it became. Every little sign, every verse, every dream, all of it pointed in one direction, and peace kept confirming it.

 

It was easy this time. Not because it was simple, but because I had finally learned God’s voice for myself.

 

And yes, others came before Daniel. Some of them said all the right words. Some came wrapped in what looked like signs. But peace didn’t follow them. My spirit had learned the difference. When God wasn’t in it, my heart just knew.

 

So when Daniel stayed, and peace stayed too, I smiled.

 

One evening, as we sat outside after service, laughing over roasted corn, I remember looking at him and thinking, So this is how it’s supposed to feel.

 

Not pressure. Not fear. Not confusion. Just peace, love, laughter, and God quietly nodding in the background.

 

That night, before sleeping, I whispered, “Lord, You didn’t keep me waiting to punish me. You kept me waiting so I could recognize You next time.”

 

And I felt it again. That same gentle presence of my Father. No words. Just warmth.

 

I smiled into my pillow.

 

This time, I wasn’t trying to hear God. I was walking with Him.

 

And that made all the difference!

 

Also Read: When God Writes Your Love Story