Love
I love chocolate ice cream.
I love you.
I love my wife.
I love my children.
God is love.
Love one another.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
To Write Love On Her Arms.
Make love.
There is only one other word in the English language with more connotations, but that is a blog for another day. Love has so many facets it’s like the surfaces of the diamond on a ladies’ engagement ring, each facet is its own plane, each adjoining the next facet by the thinnest of lines. Some facets are adjoining to each other and others are on the opposite side of a stone. Yet, no facet can be removed; they are each integral to the whole.
Love as in God is Love. I get that God is love. I probably didn’t get that until a few years ago. Now certainly God might also be some old white dude with a white kid that died on the cross for you and me. God might be the Judeo-Christian interpretation of what God is. But, at it’s core, below all of the opinions on what scripture says: God is love, the rest is just details.
Love of a son. I love my children. 95% of parentals secretly say that they love one child more than the rest. I do truly love my children equally, I don’t even like one more than the other. They are each awesome and they each teach me a lot about being a decent person. Somewhere there might be a father that is more proud of his children than I am of mine, but I haven’t met him yet.
Love of a wife. (I have no reference on how to love a husband; you’ll have to make up your own.) In India marriages are arranged. In America everyone gets to try to pick their own spouse, and many people pick several times. One of my key indicators of the mental health of an adult is the number of times they have been married: once, ok. Twice, time to be looking in the mirror. Three, you need to be spending more time in the counselors office and less time in the bar. Four, I’ll make idle chit-chat with you if no one else is handy, but please don’t expect me to invest in a relationship with you. Five, don’t bother even saying “Hello”.
But, the thing with those arranged marriages: they work. Meet a couple who has been married for 50 years and they will be happily married. It doesn’t seem to matter how you pick your spouse, assuming that they are not abusive to your and\or your children it seems that simply by sticking it out through all of the fights that somehow love grows in that space (Side bar: if your spouse is abusive to you or the kids – get out. Now!)
I am convinced that which young people think is love is little more than a Darwinian attraction to the person who can best help them procreate and carry on the genetic lines. Simple biology. Survival of the fittest. Meet someone, they look like decent breeding stock, fall in love, make babies. Darwin is satisfied, the blood line propagates. But, then about 7 years later things fall apart. One or the other throws in the towel, calls the divorce attorney, and it’s splitsville. Now, don’t get me wrong, if abuse of anyone is in the picture than that is the only reasonable choice. But, if the mate is simply not in love any more, it might be worth sticking around for a few years. Remember even the arranged marriages in India end up with happy endings. But, it takes like 50 years to get there. News flash: it takes about 50 years here too.
Ok, those are the big ones, and there is probably nothing just too shocking in what you have read so far. Now comes the whammy: I love hundreds of people. Many dozens anyhow. And, given the relatively small percentage of the 7 billion people on this planet who read my blog, the odds are really good that if you have read this far that I love you. Yes, I said that, and I mean that. I love you.
Here is the deal, here is how I define love: Would I probably cry at this person’s funeral. If I would cry at your funeral then I love you. If I wouldn’t cry then I don’t love you. Take a look at the next person you see and think “If I heard that this person died, would I cry at their funeral?” Then do that to the next person you see, and the next, and the next.
I have a son that dates girls. A lot. I suspect that he loves them. I suspect that they love him. But, that is that Darwinian kind of love, not that old couple in the front pew at church kind of love. But, at a different level, at the level of “would I cry at this person’s funeral?” I love those girls. Same thing happens for many of my children’s friends. Guys and gals both and equally. Look at the people who walk through my front door, knowing that at the very least some peanut butter and jelly is available to them. Do you think there is one of them that I wouldn’t cry for at their funeral? Not a one.
To the guys and gals that wander into my world: Know that I love you and I wish the best for you in this world.
To the gals who have wandered into my world as a result of dating my son: Know that I love you as a decent father should love his daughter and if any guy ever treats you with less respect than you need to drop him like a rock and find a guy who treats you like a princess.
With this long diatribe on love I still feel like I am just scratching the surface. What of that first girlfriend that I innocently kissed once. What of the college friend that I kissed but she didn't think of me that way. What of that co-worker who knows things about me that even my wife doesn't know. What of that preacher who I reveal my most confidential thoughts to. What of the co-ed who I worked alongside of two years ago for just one week, but to this day makes it known that she prays for me. What of the guy at work who takes the time to be my mentor. What of the church youth director who has seen me at my best and at my worst. What of the old preacher who invites me into his man cave to watch football, knowing that I don't follow the game. What of those 3 key adults that helped me grow into a decent human being yet I haven't seen since 1986.
I recently came across a phrase that I use when dealing with people: Love them all and let God sort them out.
Now, as far as loving chocolate ice cream: As I write this TJ is at the store buying groceries. And, if she really loves me she will pick some up. But, if not, I shall stick with her for life anyhow.
