LOVE IS

Here are a few ramblings on love....

LOVE IS.

I.

LOVE IS supposedly simple, but I have made it uncannily complex.

Often we get swept off our feet by some romantic idea. We enjoy someone looking in our eyes and making us feel self-assured. Sometimes when I see love between others I become jealous, as if it is something I do not have. If an act of love toward someone is unrequited and I thus flick the person from my brain like an old crumb, I’m saying that I only like the aesthetic beauty of love.

When I browse through other people’s wedding photos, pretending to be excited for them (seemingly an act of love), I’m really only comparing my wedding dress to hers. My sadistic inner person is constantly on a mission to have my bare feet trampled on by her white designer heals, and my self-loathing side wants to take out a calculator to determine who’s love—I mean wedding— is better.
As if all that filth actually has a bearing on unconditional love.

II.

LOVE IS something to be jealous of if you don’t really have it and you think you do.

As little girls we get the idea that love is a few butterflies that tickle the inner walls of our stomachs. Somehow as women we remain convinced of this, and we’re habitually disappointed when we digest our intestinal butterflies. When they’re gone we search for new ones, as if they’re a nutritious snack that we need to give us energy. The truth is, nuts and seeds are a much more substantial snack, and unconditional love never, ever comes in the form of a tickle inside of your tummy. While butterflies come and go, the lie we were taught by the media and whomever else that they are necessary looms over our heads like a heavy rain cloud.

What we need to be jealous of is the kind of Love that doesn’t think of itself— the kind of Love that gives Itself for you. Not the “love” that looks good on the outside. Butterflies in and of themselves are not bad, and you may always get them, but it is what you give that counts.

III.

LOVE IS always willing to get dirty.

How many times have I rolled my eyes or felt dread when someone asks me to do something for them? I’m embarrassed to say that the answer to that question is too big for me to have kept track of. The ridiculous nature of my selfish personality can be demonstrated if you ask me to take a few steps in the other room to grab something for you. Or suppose you want me to go somewhere with you. That’s too bad, because that doesn’t make me comfortable, therefore I will not go. You would be stupid to convince yourself these thoughts have never crossed your mind, too. I know they have.

We’re born to think of ourselves. We come out of our mothers, screaming bloody murder. Why? Because we’re uncomfortable. Our crying keeps our parents up all night. Why? Partly because we’re sitting in our own poop and partly because we’re hungry. We don’t think about our caregiver’s sanity or the fact that other people are uncomfortable too.
And we never really grow out of that.

Parents are the ones who stay up at night and feed us or clean us. Parents are the ones to keep us comfortable, keep us fed. It is all a part of God’s design. They are the ones children rely on, even when they are tired. This is a picture of what we should do for others, whether they are your children, your husband, your wife, your friend, your sister, your brother, your parents, a complete stranger, or worse: your enemy. They come before you, ALWAYS.

We should never grow out of that.