I’ve been thinking about love.
And I think there are many more blogs to come on the topic.
What I will say today is that I wish people would stop underestimating love.
Love is more than long walks on the beach or snuggly movie nights on the sofa.
Love is not just flowers every Tuesday, and dinner on Saturday nights.
It goes beyond whispers in the moonlight and afternoon delight.
Love is more than neverending phone calls and endless good nights.
The power of love isn’t just a 90s power ballad.
Love allows us to slip into the skin of the enemy to realise that sometimes our fundamental similarities should outweigh the differences.
Love tilts its head to see things from a new angle.
Love adjusts the volume on its own voice, so that it can hear the other side better. Love can endure unspeakable pain to help ease the suffering of another.
Love appreciates, but does not depend upon, reciprocation.
Love got on a cross. And stayed there. For everyone. Including the people who will never ever care. And it doesn’t hold that against them.
Love takes guts. It takes strength.
If you just take a second to imagine the magnitude of what it takes for a mother to choose her child’s life over her own, or a man to die for the woman he loves, or for strangers to rush to save lives where others are attacking or fleeing, you’ve got to admit that love might be an even greater source of courage than cookies.
And I love courage.
And I love love.
Maybe to some it looks weak from the outside, or a lot like co-dependency (I can’t live without you!) or narcism (I’ll be a hero!). Maybe it looks like silly people doing foolish things for stupid reasons. And perhaps it’s true that for every selfless move there are 10 calculated publicity stunts.
But I choose to believe the best, knowing that every choice carries some amount of risk and every belief can be weighted with doubt.
And I sit here thinking about love, I’m also thinking about being a Christian. And how even within the Church, we are split on what love means, and what it looks like, and how it behaves and what it can do. There are several who believe that love is soft. That it is the pat on the back or the Holy Ghost hug at the end of a blistering trek to the the Cross, but that absolutely first must come the agony and rage. Too much soft love dilutes The Message.
Then there are those that believe that love is like a magical mist that will envelop and consume all faults without very much cognizant contribution from any of us. Rage and judgment are bad, and tarnish The Love; they must be avoided. Intolerance of intolerance is the only intolerance that one should tolerate.
As a Christian and a love-lover, I frequently feel like I’m caught in the cross hairs of competing sensibilities. The things I actually feel aren’t always perfectly aligned with the things I maybe should feel. I’m still grappling with several issues, trying to figure out what God wants me to do with the things He’s said.
In the meantime, I choose love. Not the kind that thinks everything is okay, nor the kind that thinks nothing is. The kind that thinks that we’re all trying to find our way, and that maybe a hand extended might help someone more than a
Love saved my life. Love came and sat with me when I was deeply depressed and in the throes of my suicidal years (yeah, those happened). Love called me on whims to see if i was okay. Love held my hair when I got drunk. Love found my shoes when I left them to party hearty closer to the stage. Love held my bag, let me cry, reminded me that I was important to someone, even when that ‘someone’ was not my own self.
Love never said a word about God to me. But by being a safe space when I was too drunk, or crunk or broken to do more than drag my carcass towards it, Love convinced me there truly was a God. And that if Love could love me, maybe God could too.
It makes sense. Love is a thing we DO. But Love is who God IS. Everything about God, His comfort and His castigation, His protection and His punishment, His constancy and His constancy…. It stems from who and what He is. Which is love.
Maybe some are called to be the fist. Some to be the voice.
I am the hug, and the cookies and the courage to go one more day into the madness.
And I love that there are so many of us, all over the world.
You may not agree. But then again, you don’t have to.
We’ve all got our things.
The one thing I’m sure of, is that Love is mine.