Molasses, Seaweed, and the Love We Almost Miss: Give this combo a try, won't you?

 

Let’s talk about molasses. Not the cute drizzle on pancakes. I mean the thick, dark, sticky kind. The kind that moves slow. The kind you don’t reach for unless you mean it. And seaweed? The kind that washes up on shore. Tangled. Slimy. Smells like something you’d rather step around.

Be honest. If both were sitting in front of you, would you choose either one? Or would you go looking for something sweeter, cleaner, easier?

Here’s the tension. Molasses is what’s left after sugar has been refined. It’s dense. Unfiltered. Full of minerals. It binds ingredients together. Without it, certain recipes fall apart. Seaweed may smell strong on the beach, but underwater it’s oxygenating ecosystems, feeding marine life, stabilizing coastlines. What looks messy is sustaining life.

Now let’s pivot. What if we treat God the same way we treat molasses and seaweed? We want the sweet version. The fast answer. The comfortable blessing. The luxury package. But what if depth is what actually sustains us?

You don’t grow when life feels sweet. You grow when it feels thick. Resistance isn’t rejection. It’s development.

Molasses sticks. It clings. It binds things that would otherwise crumble. Scripture says, “He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17). All things. Galaxies. Oceans. Your family. Your future. Your fragile confidence. If God is holding the universe together, what makes us think He dropped the ball on our lives?

Seaweed might smell unpleasant on the surface. But below the waterline, life is thriving because of it. The ocean looks calm up top while ecosystems are exploding underneath. Just because you don’t see movement doesn’t mean God isn’t working.

We say we want purpose. But purpose isn’t glamorous. It’s consistent. It’s sticky. It stays when emotions leave. Luxury numbs hunger. Discipline awakens destiny. Which one are we feeding? Have we trained our spiritual taste buds to crave sugar instead of substance?

“The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer” (Psalm 18:2). A rock isn’t soft. A fortress isn’t trendy. But both protect you when the storm hits.

Sometimes God’s love feels like stretching. Like pruning. Like pressure. But pruning isn’t punishment. It’s preparation. The things we complain about today could be the very tools building our capacity tomorrow. Don’t curse what’s constructing you.

Maybe the stickiness in your life is actually God holding you together. Maybe the season that smells like low tide is oxygenating your faith. Maybe we’ve been so accustomed to polished, convenient blessings that we miss the depth of covenant love.

Not decorative love. Not fragile love. Sustaining love. The kind that binds. The kind that builds. The kind that holds when everything else shakes.

Romans 8:38–39 says nothing can separate us from the love of God. Nothing. Not pressure. Not delay. Not seasons that don’t feel sweet.

So here’s the question. Do we want sugar? Or do we want strength?

Because the God who holds galaxies together is holding you. Even when it’s thick. Even when it smells unfamiliar. Even when you wouldn’t have chosen the recipe.

And that kind of love? That’s not luxury. That’s life.