When Black Love Becomes Ministry

Sometimes a woman can spend years chasing the echo of love instead of the substance of it—running toward the noise, the excitement, the promise- but never the fulfillment. That was her story. She had looked for love in places that drained her, in arms that never learned how to hold her, and in hearts that only saw her as a convenience. She kept pouring until she was empty, hoping someone would finally pour back. 

But when she finally sat still—when she stopped striving, stopped settling, stopped begging love to choose her—it did. It found her like a sunrise finds the horizon: gently, faithfully, and right on time. 

He was different. 

Not perfect, but present. 

Not flashy, but faithful. 

Not loud, but intentional. 

He loved her in a way that felt like God’s fingerprints were on his heart. Patient when her past tried to sabotage her peace. Kind when her fears tried to speak for her. Considerate in the small ways that matter the most. Prayerful—covering her in the Spirit the way men of God cover what they honor.

Smart enough to understand her mind, gentle enough to respect her emotions, strong enough to protect her heart. 

And when it came to her, he moved with urgency—not recklessness, but priority. He didn’t play about her. He didn’t hesitate about her. He didn’t stand there trying to decide if she was worthy—he just treated her as though she already was. 

She had worn a ring three times in her life, yet somehow had never felt the mantle of being covered. Not like this. Those marriages gave her vows, but never safety. They gave her a title, but never a home. They gave her companionship, but not the spiritual shelter she longed for. 

But this man—this man carried a husband’s spirit long before any paperwork, long before any ceremony, long before any aisle. He loved her the way God designed a man to love a woman: with reverence, responsibility, and a gentle authority that says, “You’re safe here.” 

For the first time in her life, she understood that Black Love in its highest form is not just romance—it’s ministry. It’s restoration. It’s God’s love translated through human hands. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t just hold your body—it holds your soul. 

She didn’t just meet a man. 

She met the reflection of the love she’d been praying for. 

The love she deserved. 

The love that saw her, kept her, and covered her. 

Finally, she met a man who loved her like God does. 

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ABOUT JAZZY

Jazzy A. Johnson is a nurse, author, and self-love coach dedicated to helping women heal from emotional trauma and reclaim their identity in God. Through her book Love After War  and her community work, she empowers others to break cycles, set boundaries, and choose peace. Jazzy is passionate about faith, family, and guiding women toward wholeness — mind, body, and spirit. 

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