What if your acts of service aren’t proof of love but a transaction in disguise?
Many people believe they are loving well. They serve relentlessly, show up when needed, sacrifice their energy, and bend themselves backward for those they care about.
But beneath all of that, a broken model of love often hides. A model that corrodes relationships while convincing us we are doing everything right.
The truth is, what looks like love can sometimes be nothing more than currency.
Love becomes transactional. Acts of service become coins dropped in the jar. Sacrifices become receipts to cash in later. Going above and beyond becomes a way to buy security, to purchase someone’s loyalty so they will not leave.
That is the unspoken rule of currency love: I give so you’ll stay.
At first, it feels like it works. There is satisfaction in proving your value. But eventually, the cracks show.
When love is treated like currency, resentment builds. Acts of service start to feel like unpaid wages. Control creeps in, demanding repayment. Anger rises when loyalty is not returned. Bitterness takes root, and every unmet expectation feels like betrayal.
Burnout follows, because no amount of giving ever silences the fear inside: What if they leave anyway?
That fear poisons everything. Instead of building love, giving becomes leverage. Instead of security, it creates suffocation. And in the end, the very thing feared most, abandonment, often comes true.
Love collapses into transaction, and transaction always breaks under its own weight. Because love was never meant to be earned.
If currency love always fails, what is the alternative?
One answer is what could be called invisible investments.
Invisible investments are acts of love that expect nothing in return. They are not bargaining chips, receipts for loyalty, or tests of whether someone values you. They are gifts.
It looks like filling the water pitcher no one noticed. Sweeping the floors before others wake up. Listening when someone vents without needing to fix or defend. Praying for someone who may never know you prayed.
These are not small things in God’s eyes. They are chisels that reshape the heart. Each hidden act chips away at selfish ambition and uncovers something truer underneath: a heart that loves because it already knows it is loved.
When love is given this way, even conflict changes. Currency love treats every fight like a threat to an investment. Panic rises, repayment is demanded, the grip tightens. Invisible investment carries no debt to collect. Nothing is measured against return. Love can still be offered even in disagreement.
This is the way Jesus lived. At His baptism, before He performed a single miracle, the Father declared: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17)
That identity came first. He did not strive for the Father’s love; He acted from it. And because He was full of the Father’s love, He poured it out freely. Not to buy affection. Not to secure His place. But simply because love overflows.
That same flow is offered now. The Father loved the Son. The Son loved the world. And now we are invited to abide in that same love, giving not as currency, but as overflow.
Invisible investments do not drain us. They fill us. The more we give this way, the more we discover freedom. Because every hidden act roots us deeper in God’s love, where nothing is demanded and everything is already given.
The real issue is not only how love is given, it is where the supply comes from.
Many live with an inner scarcity. They believe, deep down, that they are not truly loved. So every relationship becomes a survival project: If I give enough, maybe I’ll be accepted. If I prove enough, maybe I’ll be secure. If I sacrifice enough, maybe I’ll finally be seen.
But scarcity cannot produce abundance. When love is viewed as scarce, people will always take, demand, or manipulate, even while giving. Because the giving itself is only another attempt to claw for what seems missing.
Jesus lived differently. At His baptism, before He did anything public, the Father’s love was declared. He did not perform to be loved. He was loved first, and everything flowed from that reality. That is why He could teach, heal, serve, weep, forgive, and even die without depletion.
Scarcity says: I need from you.
Currency says: I give so you’ll give back.
Overflow says: I already have, so I give freely.
The difference is the source.
When love is drawn from other people, it eventually runs dry and turns bitter. But when rooted in the Father’s love, there is no end. There is no need to take. Love is given in freedom.
This way of living transforms everything. Conflict becomes about protecting the relationship instead of proving worth. Service stops exhausting and begins to bring joy. Self-worth shifts from begging for scraps to standing as a son or daughter with an inheritance. Relationships breathe again, no longer suffocated by impossible demands.
The practice is simple but profound: start each day by remembering, I already have God’s love. Do one hidden act of love without recognition. End the day by reflecting, I gave because I already had.
This is where the cycle breaks. This is where scarcity gives way to abundance, and currency collapses into covenant.
We are not unloved. We are not unworthy. We are not beggars.
We are beloved. Loved before we performed. Loved before we failed. Loved right now without payment, without barter, without currency.
That love is the source. And from that love, we can live from overflow and love those around us who so very much deserve it.
