Let's Stay Together....

Recently, I was talking with a good girlfriend of mine about relationships. She has been in a committed relationship for a few years, and she and her fella are going through a rough patch.

She said, "I'm just not happy right now. We want different things. I keep thinking, "Should I be here? I'm young enough to get out, and we're not married yet, so now would be the time."

I said, "Ask yourself one question: would you rather have a difficult life with this person or an easier life without them there? Which is more important to you? Having who you love or what you want?"

At least for most people my age, the answer always seems to be, "having what I want." I think sometimes we expect too much from relationships...that nothing that's right should ever be hard.  And the minute it gets hard, it must not be right. 

That's just not true. What makes something right is work. It's understanding. It's combined effort. People change and situations change and feelings change. Sometimes, my significant other has felt like my best friend. Sometimes he's felt like my one and only love. And sometimes, in the middle of a bad day or an argument, I've looked at him and thought, "This person, God? Him?? Really. Just not today. Maybe I'm looking in the wrong place."

The truth is-- when you're in a relationship with someone-- there are going to be some days you have doubt. You're human. And you should expect that there will be some days that your partner will doubt too. You just have to accept that as normal. It happens. People doubt. And you know what? At that particular doubting moment, there might be someone out there who would make you happier. There might be someone who would "get you" a little easier on that particular day. There might be someone with whom you could have more money or a better physical relationship or less disagreement. 

But....

From the relationships I've seen that have lasted and are happy, the hard times and doubt haven't pulled those couples apart. They've brought them together. My parents for example have been together the majority of their lives--43 years-- if you count courtship and marriage. 

And it's not because my mom never got angry at my dad for a stupid reason. 

Or because my dad has never been a jerk, especially in their younger days, from what I understand. 

Or because they've always had money or happiness or the best of everything the world has to offer. 

It's because to my parents-- it's always been more important to them to have each other. 

Even when they're fighting, my mom will tell you that she wouldn't know what to do if he didn't come home. 

Even when my dad just doesn't get what  mom is talking about, he'll tell you he'd rather be confused by her than anyone else on earth. 

Why?

Because they made a commitment to love each other for the rest of their lives. And that commitment comes first. Their promise to love always comes first. 

What is love? (Baby, don't hurt me no more... :-))

That's the other thing-- for a relationship to work-- both parties have to be operating from the same definition of love. 

I know that sounds maybe too obvious to state, but I don't think it is. You should have concrete conversations with your partner about how they define love. What is love to them? Is love a commitment to the relationship? Is it a commitment to a particular person? How does love operate? Who does it put first? What does it value? When does it end? Does it end?

For my parents, if we asked them right now, separately, they would give me the same answer-- God. And then my dad would probably break out the Bible and go to 1 Corinthians 13. 

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

So many people quote these verses, because they're pretty-sounding and a nice idea, but they don't really read them to live them. 

What is love then? Maybe it's easier to understand what love isn't. 

Love isn't self serving. 

Love doesn't envy. 

Love is not proud. 

Love doesn't boast. 

Love doesn't dishonor others. 

Love is not easily angered. 

Love keeps no record of wrongs. 

Love does not rejoice in evil. 

Does this sound like many modern  relationships you know? Usually, in the world, love is something more akin to :

Love is what makes me happy, and if it doesn't make me happy all the time, it's not love. 

Love always wants what I want all the time. 

Love is always convenient and easy to find. 

Love will make others envy me. 

Love won't demand more of me than I think I can give. 

Love will tell me what I want to hear. 

Love better not ever do me wrong, because the minute that happens, I'm out. 

Love is whatever feels good. 

Those definitions, or even variations of them, are vastly different. One puts self first. The other puts love first. 

And working from two different definitions trying to come to a consensus on what one relationship should be will never end well. 

How you define love affects how you treat the other person. How you value them. Where they fit on your list of priorities. What you do when things aren't working out. What you do when things are working out. What you expect of them. What you expect of yourself. How you define love determines how you define your relationship. 

When two people define love the same way, they want the same things, prioritize the same things, and expect the same things, within reason. When one of them acts out of line with that definition (it happens) the other is more likely to wait it out because they know that they can expect that their partner will always come back to the truth they started from in the beginning. 

That they love each other. And that to both of them, that love means the same thing. 

More than words.

The song "More Than Words" by Extreme is one of my favorite of all time.  One of the earliest memories I have of hearing it is sitting in the cab of Daddy's tractor as a little girl while the radio played.  He was taking me out to see Apples--my "pet cow"-- that day, and letting me do some chores with him on the farm.  We were on a break and he was walking around, putting things away and singing.

I don't remember how old I was at the time, but I remember that the words to the song struck me even then.  I knew then that love was "more than words" and my parents are a perfect example of that... but Daddy particularly so.  He's not the best with words; we don't say I love you every day... in fact, sometimes the things he says are a little malaprop.  But he means well.

And my Daddy has always been love in action... from carrying me to the bathroom in full leg casts, to tolerating me listening to nothing but a single of "Nothing Compares to You" by Sinead O'Connor for an hour and a half drive to Louisville for a surgery.... until finally when we hit the Watterson Expressway, he couldn't take it anymore.

He doesn't have to say he loves me, even though he does say it often.  He shows it even more often.

It's in the big actions:
In the miles he's driven for me (probably hundreds of thousands at this point)
In the times he's listened to me cry over boys, guys, and men.
In the hands he's held after painful medical procedures.
In the yelling he's done at 2 am when I call him with a problem usually the product of a bad decision.
In the time spent trying to take an interest in what interests me, even after I give him a hard time about not listening.

It's in the little actions:
In the skittles he sneaks into my bag when he walks me back to the gate at the airport almost every time I fly home from Kentucky.
In the way he shares a songbook with me at church, and always has Lifesavers Spearmint for me in his pocket.
In the way he hugs me after a long absence, with one hand running through the back of my hair and my face buried in the slight smells of smoke and Downy that are home to me.
In the groceries he buys everytime he comes to visit even when I ask him not to.

My Daddy is love in action.

It used to bother me that he didn't say it much.  That he wasn't silver tongued or good with telling me how he felt.  When I looked for a man in my life, I was convinced I needed someone different.  Someone who told me more.  I liked to hear the words.  I needed to hear them.

But as it turns out, I'd rather have the action.  You can tell someone you love them five times a day, but if your actions don't match your words, you might as well just be saying, "I love me" instead.

Saying "I love you" is nice... but love is a verb.  Love always has time for you.  Love always tries to put you first.  Love cares what you think.

Love is honest, but tactful.  Love is straightforward, but it proceeds with optimistic caution.  Love is inconvenient at times, but keeps no tally of who's done what.

Love is courteous and patient, and it suffers through hard times and wrongdoings.  Love always gives without seeking return and is joyful throughout.

Love moves and breathes, smiles, and stops dead in its tracks for the person it seeks.

Love is so much more than words.

A letter to you, wherever you are, and to me....

I want to know you. You are worth knowing.

You are worth waiting for.  You are worth waking up for--if I've even fallen asleep. 

You are worth doing my hair and my makeup, agonizing over what I'm going to wear, before finally settling on my favorite hip gigging sweater dress and boots. 

You are worth the twenty minutes extra I take to put on and zip up the boots, not because I think you'll notice them at all!, but because you are worth the best I have to offer, and darling, the black boots are it, let me tell you. 

You are worth brushing my teeth a little longer, through one extra recitation of the ABC's backwards in my head. 

It usually takes three. You are worth four.

You are worth my most genuine, toothiest smile. 

You are worth a train ride, a plane ride, a bus ride and two transfers, if that's what I have to do to get to you. 

I would do that for you, because you are worth knowing. 

You are worth the most expensive drink in Starbucks. You are worth sitting on a cold park bench, if that's where I have to go to find you. You are worth all the time it takes for me to like you, and love you, and learn to appreciate you, because you are worth knowing. 

I want to know you-- really know you. I want to sit with you for hours and listen while you tell me what makes you happy, and what makes you angry, and what makes you sad, and what makes you pause, even in your busiest moments. 

I want hear your laugh, and commit it to memory, because I can tell you now, it's my favorite thing about you. 

I want to know where you stand-- on abortion, and politics, and DC vs. Marvel comics. 

I want to know what political figure most inspires you, and the name of the last book you read, and how sweet you'll drink your iced tea. 

Because that last one's important to me. 

And because you're worth knowing. 

And worth dying for too. I want you to know that. 

We're both worth blood, perfect, holy, righteous, pure blood. 

The only kind that could save us both. 

I want to know that you KNOW that. And not just that you know it. That you believe it. And that you act it out in your life. 

Because it's a weighty responsibility to know that you are worth the death of the world's only Blameless One. 

And I want to know that you live out that worth. I want to see it in how you treat others: yourself, the server, the passerby on the street. I want to see it in how you treat me. 

I want to know that you know and you value and you accept your worth. 

And mine. 

And His. 

I want to know, because you are worth knowing. 

And so am I. I am worth knowing because I am His. 

I am worth the best you have to offer and the miles you have to travel and the temporary inconveniences and the time you have to take, because I am His. 

And both of us-He and I-are worth knowing. 

Let it go...

Lately, I've been praying so hard to God to teach me how to let go. I have always been a dweller and I see both good and bad qualities in that... But the way I hold on can often hurt me more than anyone else. 

I especially have a hard time letting go of people. Whether it's a friend who doesn't treat me as I deserve or a romantic interest that is no longer interested or interesting, I can't let go. 

Don't let this make you think I'm some sort of psycho who will stalk a person if he or she has made it clear that I'm not a welcome presence in his or her  life. Quite the opposite, people often tell me that I'm hard to read, or that they're unsure how I feel about them because I can seem distant at times. I force the distance though, because my feelings are too intense to let show. Or maybe I'm not ready to show them yet. Or maybe I'm fearful of the other person's reaction. in reality, once I let you into my life, you're in to stay, and I tend to be loyal to that connection, regardless of what happens between us. 

Now again, this trait isn't inherently awful. Sometimes rekindled friendships are stronger than the initial connection. And I'm happy that I've remained friends with many of the people I've dated. These guys are some of the people who know me best.... But....

There's this period of relationship limbo where my heart seems to cling to anything that reminds me of that person as a sign of hope. 

When I'm trying to let go, I crave space from the situation, and yet, everything seems to remind me (a song, a random person on the street, a movie, some quote I hear) that my heart still has this white-knuckled grip on just the hope that there is something still there that could grow into a relationship. 

It's not about desperation, though I think that's how it's misread sometimes. It's about loving the person. Loving all people. I'm a lover, and someone who will fight for love, even at the lowest points, because love should always win. 

As I grow older though, I see how this inherently good fight can turn inward and be so self-destructive. How it can hold me back and hold my heart back to keep fighting for a prize that is not even there for the taking. 

I see now that I in some sense have wasted years of my life at times holding onto the hope that my love would overcome.... When really, it takes two people fighting for the same end for love to really "conquer all."

The only sole love that has ever conquered all is Christ's love for us when he died on the cross. His love conquered all of our sins and insecurities and brushes with spiritual death. His love is the only love that can overcome it all. 

So I'm laying my cares at the cross today, and asking for His love to overtake my weaknesses. I'm focusing my gaze on Him and His promise to never forsake me. I'm envisioning my white-knuckled grip, not on any earthly Union or person.... But on His hand. I'm holding onto Him, praying that His grip on my heart will help me loosen my own.

A small price to pay...

My freshman year of college, I was really struggling with the existence of God.  I had gone to church my entire life.  I had been taught that He was there.  I had read about Him, read His words, and I had been told of His undying love for me when He let His Son die on the cross for my sins.  I had been saved by His Grace, buried with Him in baptism, and received guidance from His Spirit through my honest prayer and search of the Scripture.

But at this point in my life, I was stumbling through the dark and none of the above morsels of truth shone bright enough to help me see Him there with me.  I was convinced that He was not there.  That He must not exist, and that if He did exist, He had completely abandoned me as unworthy.

As far as I was concerned, I was better off dead.  So much better off that I clutched a razor blade, holding it to my wrist in the women's restroom at Southside Christian Church during a sorority retreat.  

In my head, I was yelling out to Him.... "Show yourself!" almost like I expected Him to swoop down and save me Touched-By-An-Angel-style from this ridiculous exploitation of my own free will.  But the truth is, I wanted to feel Him there.  I wanted to feel anything.  I just wanted to feel.  

I'm going to be frank and say that that year was one of the hardest of my life., as it is for most young women.  I had to adjust to new surroundings, new people, new ways of life.  I was so naive in some ways that I thought college  was going to be so much better than anything I had experienced before.  That I would be surrounded by mature adults who didn't care about the fact that I was different, because we all were.  That I could finally stop focusing on "fitting" or "belonging" somewhere, because none of us would fit, and we'd all belong as misfits together.

Better yet.  None of us would care.

College was that experience in many ways, but it didn't really become that dream experience until I matured into the woman I needed to be to make it happen.

At that particular moment in the bathroom stall my freshman year, all I knew was how alone I felt.  I couldn't see past the blinders of my own loneliness.  Sometimes, loneliness speaks loudest in a crowded room.... and this particular day was no exception.  I had absconded, backpack in hand, into the bathroom to escape the trust exercises and craft circles and story-sharing with women I barely knew, to be in there alone with the only voice I could hear anyway-- the one of the Enemy.

If you know me and you read this blog on the regular, you know that I did not carry out his plan for me that day.  You know that kind words from a sister who entered the restroom to wash her hands--unaware of the torment I was experiencing in that bathroom stall-- stopped me.  They weren't much, those words, but I remember that she told me how excited she was to get to know me better and how glad she was that we had pledged together.

I didn't leave that stall completely unburdened that day.  I still had plenty of work to do on my own to face my demons.... but I did leave that stall.  An act I credit wholeheartedly to that sister and to God.  He didn't "show Himself" to me that day through any miraculous manifestation, but through her words, through her kindness, I could feel that He was there.

Months later, I stood in front of my peers at Centre Christian Fellowship to tell the story of the day I had finally come to see God from the inside of a bathroom stall.

 He is there, in your smile at that scowling stranger on the street.  He is there when you hold the door for the lady behind you at the store.  He is there when you say "Hello,"and make eye contact upon entering an elevator.  You may not think much of short pleasantries directed at strangers, but even the shortest has the potential to change someone's day.

Acknowledging another person, no matter how small the act, shows them that they matter to someone.  That they're here for something.  That maybe a day that to them, feels pointless, actually does have a point.  

For some people: the homeless person on the street, the battered woman living in fear, the children alone and longing for the comforts of a good home, your small pleasantries may be the only kindnesses they see all day.

And I'm not exaggerating.

Be His eyes, ears, and smile for as many souls as you can today.  It's the simplest act of service you can share.