The Mystery of God in You

Amanda Woodiel ponders what she thinks is the hardest part of the Christian faith to believe: the mystery of God’s intense, personal love that manifests by His abiding in us. 

The hardest part about the Christian faith to believe, I think, is not that God is One and yet three Persons. It’s not the Incarnation, as much as that does blow apart our preconceived categories of existence. It’s not even the Resurrection. The hardest part of our faith to believe is that God loves me, personally loves me. Intimately loves me. Desires my friendship. Cares for me enough to speak to me daily. Even more, loves me enough to be present in me. The mystery of God in me, as Saint Paul says in Colossians 1:27.

I might believe in a God who has transcendent self-less love enough to die for me. But a God who loves me enough to abide with me, to abide in me? Who loves me enough to do that despite knowing the messiness and darkness of my heart? That can seem unlikely, even fantastical.

A “Real” Dream 

I had a dream last night. That in itself is not remarkable. Every now and then, though, I wake up and know with certainty that a dream has a deeper meaning. In this one, I was in a college classroom (I’m a grad student in my middle-age, so that is a current context for me). I really don’t remember what interaction I was having with the professor. I have a sense that there was some kind of assignment or question we were answering. I’m not sure anyone else was in the room, in retrospect. This professor had been my long-time friend, but I had not seen him in quite a while. Whatever the professor and I were talking about, I said to him coyly, “So you do still love me a little.”

He crouched down to the level of my desk, and said to me with a quiet earnestness that made me acutely, even physically, aware of the vulnerability and sincerity that was throbbing from him: “No, I still love you a lot.” The intense confession of love and vulnerability was as palpable as if he had pulled down the left side of his shirt to show me his heart. I remember the thrill I felt. My heart beat faster, my cheeks reddened, I felt my breathing quicken. I felt chosen. Remembered. Loved. It was not a dream of physical attraction, but of spiritual union.

The rest of the dream was less memorable. I know I was trying to reconcile both my desire not to divorce or cheat on my husband with the desire to know what it was like to be loved by this man.

I’ve sat with this dream and now I believe it is not about any long-time male friend of mine but about God. Frankly, in my deepest heart, I believe God “still loves me a little.” What He wants me to see, as He condescends, stoops down, looks me squarely in the eye, is that He still loves me a lot. He revealed to me His Sacred Heart and His intense desire for my acquiescence to that love. He was waiting for my surrender.

The love of this personal, intense God is thrilling: it quickens both body and soul. I had let the love of God become a doctrinal trope: “Yes, Jesus loves me, the Bible tells me so.” I knew it in my head, but I didn’t know it in my being.

Fiat and Amen 

I remember now that throughout the early hours of the morning of this dream, every time I woke up, I thought, “the mystery of God in you,” which is the title of a book from which I had read a selection for class. Over and over that night, I tossed and turned, mumbling this phrase, “the mystery of God in you.” What does this mean? It is the mystery that God’s love is not a detached love, floating out in space. He is in you, abiding with you, stooping to the “desk” of your inmost being every moment of every day in order to declare His love to you and expose His Sacred Heart.

We must intentionally call to mind God’s love for us each day, and that recognition should be thrilling, quickening our body and soul. Every day, God asks us to give Him our fiat and our amen, a “let it be done” and “I believe,” that gives His love license to transform us — from the inside out.

Share your thoughts with the Catholic Mom community! You'll find the comment box below the author's bio and list of recommended articles.

Copyright 2026 Amanda Woodiel
Images: Canva