“Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we’ll ever do.”
-Brené Brown
It started as a playful question — one that floats around social media and teenage conversations: “Would you still love me if I were a worm?” But beneath the humor lies something deeply human — the longing to be loved even when we are no longer impressive, beautiful, or useful. When our shine dulls, our words falter, and our form feels small.
There’s something sacred in that question.
Something about wanting to know if love endures even when all that’s left of us is the simplest version — raw, humbled, crawling through the soil of our own becoming.
When I hear that question now, I think of how often God’s love meets us there — not in our polished prayers, but in our fragile forms. In the dust, the doubt, the days when we feel unworthy of being chosen.
Isaiah 41:14 speaks to this so tenderly:
“Do not be afraid, you worm Jacob, little Israel, do not fear, for I myself will help you,” declares the Lord, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.
It sounds almost jarring — “you worm.” And yet, even there, the voice of God is one of comfort. It is not an insult; it’s a reminder that divine help extends even to our lowest forms. Psalm 22:6 echoes this humility:
“But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people.”
And still — even in that cry — love remains. The Holy whispers, “Yes.”
I think about how often I’ve asked that question in subtler ways.
Would you love me if I failed?
Would you love me if I stopped being strong?
Would you love me if I didn’t have anything left to give?
And time and again, grace has answered through people, through presence, through moments that say: Yes. Still yes.
“Though our feelings come and go, God’s love for us does not.”
–C.S. Lewis
Maybe that’s what unconditional love truly is — not a grand gesture, but a quiet, enduring promise that no transformation can undo. A love that stays, even as we molt, break open, or bury ourselves in the dirt — because it knows what’s coming. It knows resurrection.
So maybe the better question is:
Can I love myself when I am the worm — when I am small, unseen, and struggling — trusting that the Divine already does?
Well-Stirred Reflection:
Where do you need to remember that you are loved — not despite your smallness, but within it?
Well-Stirred & Wondering 
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