I've been moved by the inner vibes of me to follow on my theme from last week: this one of Love. I do not wish in any way to advocate that Love is easy to understand, let alone write about. But I definitely know that it exists. I think that there are very few Loves that are real, and I would like to discuss for a bit two of those Loves that I believe extend far more than what we read in books or watch in [extremely-depressing-but-really-difficult-not-to-watch] movies.
What I have come to figure out (and it didn't take me much time to come to the conclusion that I have always known) is that when it comes to Love, we're all clueless. Because no matter how far out into the universe we go, no matter how many sea caves we discover, and no matter how many small little pieces we can break an atom into, we just have NO idea where to even begin defining and, even more, understanding Love. The greatest philosophers and mathematicians can come up with theories such as corpuscularianism and calculus, but they cannot come up with a formula that gets us just an iota closer to understanding what Love is. Is it a physical reaction or an uncontrollable emotional force? What separates Love from affection, curiosity or pity? Can you measure Love?
Regardless of the many questions that may arise, there are some things that I do know about love. One of those things is that Love is a choice. It's not passive or uncontrollable as Hollywood would like us to believe. Love is actively deciding that no matter what, I am sticking by this person. Because I Love. The only love that is real, or at the very least that matters, is a love that is selfless; sacrificial; unconditional. So then it raises a question in my head: ja, right. Who?
I think about the kind of person I am, and what it takes to DECIDE to love me. To decide means seeing my imperfections and choosing to look past them... and you would be looking a REALLY long distance to see past them. There are days that I wake up and even I find it hard to love myself. Days when my jeans are too tight, my eyes are too small, or I'm just not that funny. I think about how I could be taller, smarter, thinner, prettier, just like her, a bit more like him and a lot less like me. I think about the person that I want to be, and how very far away I am from even starting to become her. I look and see people who are cooler, nicer, quirkier, more talented and have more friends than me. And then I think about CHOOSING to love, and whether or not I would choose to love me. And most days... well, most days, it's pretty tough.
And even more than that, I don't understand why my mother loves me. Science dictates that all things have a reason and that everything can be explained through methodical calculation. If I were to use that logic in trying to understand why my mother loves me, here's what I would come to: she shouldn't. From soiled diapers at 6 months old (gross!), to selfish tears at 6 years old, all the way to broken curfews at sixteen, there is an endless list of why my mother should not love me. I can think of countless times when I have shouted at, lied to and fought with my mom. When I have disrespected her, mocked her and told her she's ruined my life. Where I have not regarded her feelings, and when I have outright disobeyed her. The times that I have made her cry: in front of me and in secret. I can name times when I have openly despised her, publicly humiliated her and inwardly detested her. When I have done everything in my power to manipulate her, belittle her and get my way.
If I were to think of the times that she should love me, the list is not so long. In fact, from the time that I was taking up lodging in her womb, I have been nothing but a pain in her back and burden to her wallet. After all she has sacrificed, I still manage to undermine her love through my intolerance and selfishness. I expect too much and thank too little. I seldom acknowledge her contribution to my successes, but am quick to blame her for my failures.
But she loves me. When I disobey her, she loves me. When I yell at her, she loves me. When I prove to her in my actions and my hateful words that she should do anything but love me, she loves me. She was at every school play, at every debate. She made me soup when I was ill, even though she told me not to play in the rain. She hugged me, kissed me and held my hand when I had done everything to push her away. She loves me, and I don't know why. You see, Science says that I am a parasite. I leech off her, taking what I want and doing what's good for me. Loving me is not healthy, and yet she does.
If I can't even figure out why my mother - with her human flaws - can love me, how much more flabbergasted am I to find that GOD loves me. In fact, I think that He shouldn't. But I thank God that He does not think the way I do. I thank Him that He does not have a pros and cons list of why He should love me, because to Him that does not matter. I don't have to understand why He loves, and trying to figure it out would be a waste of time. All I have to know is that He does. You see, the thing with God is that He doesn't choose love, He IS love; He doesn't give grace, He CREATES it. And God doesn't just tell me He loves me, He SHOWED me He loves me: way back when He hung on a wooden cross, He demonstrated a love so immeasurable it REDEFINED love.
I don't know how it's possible to get seedless grapes, or why mice have really long tales. I don't know why some people like blue cheese and why others don't. I don't know where dogs learn to swim, or why pigeons are grey. I don't know why my mother loves me. And I don't know why the all-powerful ruler of everything would look down and notice me; why He would love me and care for me; why He would die for me.
There are tons of things that I do not know about Love. What I do know is God loves me. And to me, that's all that really matters. God's love for me IS selfless, sacrificial and unconditional. How? Well, I don't know. But I do know that The Duke of Romance has a way of describing Love that has resonated over the years of war and famine and disease. Shakespeare may not have been thinking about God's love for us when he wrote this, but it sure is a close description of a Love that even the greatest poets and literary legends would never be able to fully explain, even if they were to try forever.
This week's challenge: know that you are loved. Because even when you look in the mirror and there are three more pimples there that weren't there yesterday, there is a Prince Charming who loves you so much, you'll never be able to wear Him out. And isn't that just a joy to know!
"... Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom."
Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
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