love

When the storm passes and sailing is relatively smooth for a while, I chide myself ‘Don’t be silly, it’s fine - what are you worried about?’ Then another storm hits and I wrestle yet again. 

My deepest, most despairing part believes I am called to be better than this. The command to love one another hangs over me like a heavy weight. Reminding me that I haven’t reached the bar. I am haunted by the knowledge that God measures my love for Him by how I love those He created.

But God, you are so much easier to love - my goodwill towards you knows no bounds - because you are nothing but good to me. 

The complete opposite is true of those you call me to love. How do I keep loving when I get nothing in return but struggle and tension? The object of my intended love appears to be incapable of receiving, digesting, growing from and reciprocating the love I give in a way that is understandable to me. It feels like this will forever be one-way.

My faithful upbringing throws me some pithy advice ‘Love your enemies with the love God first gives you. ’ That’s great. I mean, it is great, and I know it is true. I can give you a million examples of when God’s love has given me the boost I need to grit my teeth and breathe through a tantrum, or drop the rope in a brewing confrontation, or give that one more hug as I’m leaving the room desperately longing for my bed. But I don’t know what to do with this residual resentment that appears to be growing with every hateful word, disobeyed request, defiant stare or angry hiss. 

As the ship pulls into harbour, with all on board battered and weary - desperately hopeful for calm after the storm, the slow work of patching the hull begins. Apologies are given, amends are attempted - often in obscure or maladaptive ways. Deep breaths are taken and we fortify with renewed resolve to do better next time. However after many of these storms, there is little area left unpatched and the ship is losing its original strength and integrity. In fact love in its original optimistic form is barely recognisable anymore. 

This is the point I start to question what love really means. Then I caution myself that this is a slippery slope towards creating my own truth in justification of my behaviour. I long for someone to define the minimally acceptable level of love that God commands. In some cases, can love just be action? Love is a verb right? I show up - every time. I am fair and therapeutic in my responses. I keep my word, give meaningful surprises and encourage relentlessly. I speak life and share correction with sensitivity to the best of my ability. 

Yet I know I will never be happy with an external measurement of how much to love my neighbour when I know the depth of the undeserved love God gives me. I will only be satisfied when the truth of love God has written on my heart and my thoughts and actions towards those I am to care for sing in unison. Or even just singing the same song would suffice for now. There is a wide chasm forming between what I know to be good and right and what I currently experience. 

I am reminded of this wide chasm every time those who are easy to love and feel love from, enter the room. The joy and delight I experience is palpable. I want to wrap them in a hug, ask about their day, listen to their joys and sorrows. Then there is the total absence of that. The tightening in my shoulders as clouds quickly move in front of the sun, the bracing for what might come next. I know this involuntary response is simply the result of many wild and unpredictable storms. 

So here I am. 

Knowing there is better for us both. 

Knowing you love and hold me in my struggle.

Knowing you love and hold them in their brokenness.

Knowing I am deeply impatient and want healing now. 

And I leave this all with you.

Amen.