We ask, “Would you still love me?” in a hundred quiet ways—through our apologies, our fears, our self-doubt. Sometimes it sounds playful, like the viral “worm” question. Other times, it’s the trembling voice of our shame, asking if love could survive our lowest form.
This poem is about that question and its holy answer: yes.
Love that endures the dirt. Love that kneels in the soil beside us. Love that does not flinch when we are small, broken, or unbeautiful.
Because real love—divine or human—doesn’t love us if.
It loves us through.
Would you still love me?
Asked in one of many ways—
such a silly thing to say.
I’ve made a mistake,
a burden I cannot carry.
Would you still love me?
“Nothing but beauty can be seen—
by my eyes, at least.”
My flaws and scars
cover every inch of me.
Would you still love me?
“I would love you—
now, forever, always.”
I’m so very lowly,
only soil and dirt surround me.
Would you still love me?
“Yes,
even if you are at your worst—
even if you were a worm.”
Well-Stirred Reflection:
Maybe that’s what grace really is—not a grand rescue, but the quiet presence that stays when we think we’ve ruined everything. It’s the whisper that reminds us, “You are still loved,” even when our hands are covered in the mess of being human. We spend so much of life trying not to fall, trying to stay clean, composed, and worthy. But perhaps Love has always been waiting in the dirt—patient and steady—ready to show us that even the worm is part of the garden.
Well-Stirred & Wondering 
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