For Everything There is a Season

"In order to write about life, first you must live it." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Category: love (Page 1 of 4)

Becoming Us

September 2, 2016 / / 2 Comments
Photo Courtesy of Myers Creative Photography

To say I have been going through a dry spell with my writing would be a gross understatement. I just took a peek and saw that my last blog post was over THREE MONTHS ago. I have some suspicions about why that happened but I guess what is most important is that I started writing again while we were away in Ireland on vacation. I actually filled up an entire travel journal about our trip and on the flight home, four of the six hours was spent furiously writing in my journal. The other two hours was dedicated to watching the movie, The Departed. Love that one!

Anyways, I feel like I have my writing mojo back, at least I hope so. The words have been running into my brain faster than I can write or process them and that is always a good thing.

Over the past few days I have been acutely aware that Labor Day Weekend is coming up. Six years ago, Labor Day became my favorite holiday weekend and as the weekend approaches every year, the memories of that weekend always resurface. Many of you will recognize this story, but it’s been a few years since I’ve blogged about it and my perspective on it has shifted some, so bear with me.

In August 2009, I FINALLY moved out of the home I shared with my ex-husband. I moved into an apartment and my only roommate was my pooch, Molly. It was truly one of the best times of my life and over the course of the next year and a half of living there by myself, I personally grew in leaps and bounds. After years and years of living with an emotionally abusive alcoholic, I was on the path of reclaiming myself. I felt so free.

I dated on and off. I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship; I wanted to know what it was like to just date someone…no strings attached. For the most part, that didn’t typically go too well for me. I had also become friends with this man who lived in another state (Ohio) and after almost a year of talking on the phone, we realized we had romantic feelings for each other. We met in person, it went fairly well, but once I returned home, the shit hit the fan. I ended up hospitalized due to my Sjogren’s symptoms, he pretty told me I was too much trouble, and that was the end of that. I wasn’t going down that road again. I knew I deserved better.

That event showed me that I was done with dating. When I was having better days physically, I wanted to use my energy on spending more time with my friends and maybe doing some more volunteer work. I had also come to realize that I really didn’t need to be dating, or have a partner, to feel complete. Once you realize that, the fact that you can be happy all on your own, your life takes on a whole new meaning.

At this time in my life, I was very active in my church. I was there just about every single Sunday and I was active in a lot of volunteer work with the church. I had made a lot of friends there, most of whom also became my friends on Facebook. This is one of the nicer things about Facebook, you get to better know people you already know and see in person every week.

Right after my hospitalization, one of those friends started regularly chatting with me after church. He knew, from Facebook, that I had been in the hospital and wanted to see if I needed anything. He asked me about my writing and even though we didn’t appear, on the surface, to have much in common, we could talk comfortably in a way that made it feel like that fact didn’t matter at all.

As the summer waned on, I began to realize that I REALLY started looking forward to church more than I usually did. It was obvious to me that this man’s presence in my life meant something more to me than my other male friends from church. However, I was determined to stay off the dating scene and be this strong, independent woman who was happy being by herself. Because in all honesty, I WAS happy. And I wasn’t willing to give that up again for someone else. Too much had happened to me. Too much had been lost.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that this man from church was having feelings for me and by the end of the summer, it was obvious that the half hour we spent together talking after church just wasn’t enough. And on the Sunday of Labor Day Weekend 2010, he asked me if I wanted to take Molly and go for a walk with him the next day. I said yes because really, what harm was there in that?

So on Monday, we went for our walk.

And then proceeded to spend the entire day together.

When he dropped me off at home, I knew, with certainty, that my life would never again be the same. I knew that I needed this person in my life every day, without exception.

I make it sound easy, but in many ways, it wasn’t. I was incredibly anxious about the whole situation…about opening up my heart again and about the possibility of losing the independence I had worked so hard to achieve. But I also knew that I could not deny what I felt and while at that point I didn’t know for sure that this man felt the same way, I suspected he might. I decided he was worth the risk.

Our relationship snowballed from there. We went on that walk on Labor Day. On Columbus Day, he told me he loved me. The week later, he asked me to move in with him.

I said no.

Even though I was certain at this point I wanted to be with him forever, I wasn’t ready to leave the safe sanctuary I had built for myself. I needed more time.

I lasted until January.
Hey, what can I say?

As I’m sure you have guessed by now, this gentleman from church is my husband, Chuck.

So why am I telling this story again? Well, it is my favorite story for starters. But, it’s more than that. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much things have changed for me over the past six years; for Chuck as well. I’ve been thinking about a lot of the decisions we both had to make in order to be together and make this work. I’ve been thinking about our differences and about how on the surface, we would seem an unlikely match; you know, the 60’s hippie marrying the 80’s girl thing. And that’s pretty much just the tip of the iceberg.

But over the past six years, it has become obvious that our differences actually make us better partners for each other, mostly because when you get down to what really matters in a relationship, we are more similar than different.

I’ve had many people tell me how lucky I am to have Chuck in my life. Do I know how fortunate I am that a man like my husband exists in this world? Absolutely. But the thing is, luck didn’t have much to do with it at all. I do believe that God certainly did play a part in terms of us both being in the same location at the same time, specifically our church. I also believe God worked through our former pastor as he was the one that brought Chuck back to our church after many years of being away. There is no way to deny that God wanted us together.

But the rest of it? Definitely not luck either. It was a series of very conscious choices that we both made in order to be together. It was a choice on my part, as a child of God, to not settle for any man treating me in a way that was less than what I deserved. I am the one who decided what my worth was and refused to settle for anything less than that. That’s hard stuff.

I see postings on social media all the time about how terribly women are treated by their spouses. Or how terrible children are treated by their parents and vice versa.I read about how people settle for friends who view them as disposable. If you don’t hear anything else I say in this entire blog post, please hear this…

I don’t care who you are.
You are NOT disposable.
You deserve love and respect just as much as nobody and don’t EVER let anyone tell you differently.
I really wish someone had told me that when I was married to my first husband.
So I am telling YOU now.

If you have people treating you less than the precious gift God intended you to be, you need new people. Like now.

There were other conscious choices my husband and I made as well. Some of them minor, some of them much more important.

I found out long after we got together that my husband was interested in me long before I thought he was. I thought his romantic interest in me grew from the time I got out of the hospital until that Labor Day Weekend. What I didn’t realize was that he was interested in me for almost the whole time he was back in church. I’m guessing that was at least six months, if not longer. But he saw, from Facebook, that I had gotten involved with the man from Ohio and he waited.

He waited.

That’s the kind of love we all deserve.
Someone who is in it for the long haul.
Someone who thinks you are worth waiting for.

Luck certainly had nothing to do with us being together one week in 2011 when I realized I needed to make a decision about whether I was going to stay or leave Chuck. There was no fight, no argument. We didn’t even really have a disagreement. No raised voices. What we did have was a discussion that made it glaringly clear that there was an insurmountable obstacle between us, a deal breaker so to speak. Nothing that he did wrong, nothing that I did wrong….just two very different wishes for our future. There were a lot of tears that week and a lot of soul searching. There was a difficult decision to be made.

I obviously stayed.
And I’ve never looked back.

So why do I mention all this? Because I think that people look at us, use the term “lucky” in describing our relationship, and sometimes think that a relationship like ours is unattainable. I’m hear to tell you it is not. But, it is a lot of hard work. You don’t see our hard work. Well, maybe a few of you do. Our hard work is the day to day stuff that makes our marriage stronger each and every day. You won’t see it on Facebook. You will actually NEVER see a negative post, sarcastic comment, or passive-aggressive statement from one of us about the other on Facebook, or any other social media site. That is part of our covenant to each other. That is part of our hard work together.

I think that is part of why I love this time of year and looking back at the story of how our marriage came to be. It reminds me to not take the hard work for granted, It reminds me of our beginning and how special it truly was. It reminds me that your past hurts do not have to define who you are or where you go in life. And finally, it reminds me that in life, sometimes you just have to take a risk and  grab onto your happiness when it is right in front of you.

When They Grow Old…

May 14, 2015 / / 0 Comments

As many of you know, I have this amazing dog named Molly. She is a 13 year old (14 in two months!) basset hound/black lab mix who I adopted from a local shelter with my ex-husband back in 2003. She and I have been through it all together: serious illness, a divorce, a job loss, loss of another pet for me and serious illness, severe separation anxiety, a divorce, and the loss of a dog brother for her. Through it all, we have been constant companions.

Molly is different now than she used to be and the change happened sometime around the time I got divorced and moved into my own place with her. She used to be the hyper one, not especially affectionate, and always wanted her own way. She still wanting her own way, but the move changed her. At first, it was for the worse. The separation anxiety she experienced was bad enough that she almost hurt/killed herself trying to go through a window when she was home alone, I was renting at the time and my landlords were not appreciate of her constant howling and barking every single time I left the house. It was a hard time for me as well, because I was disabled and even getting to doctor’s appointments was a struggle, because I didn’t know what I would come home to.

It took a long time, but we worked it out. A year of behavior modification and psychiatric medications, as well as visits to a dog shrink at Tufts University, got us through the bad parts. Not to mention several kind and compassionate friends and family who would watch her for me during the rockiest of times.

I will be honest. I almost gave up on her during this period of time. My own physical needs were so extensive at the time that I didn’t know how I was going to mange the severe separation anxiety because I obviously had to leave the house. I remember one afternoon, I came home to find her panting and in so much distress. The apartment was torn apart. I sat on the floor with her and cried. Then I google searched basset hound rescues and found the one I was going to call.

I never made the call.

And from that point on, that is when the change happened. She was completely and utterly devoted to me. It’s almost like she knew…

A year later, Molly, who was about 8 years old, started to have multiple medical problems. The vet bills mounted up and the care she needed increased. The most notable incident was the day I came home from a friend’s funeral to find that she couldn’t get up and down the stairs and cried every time she tried to move. I still vividly remember the pain in my heart upon hearing her cry like that. It sounded like she was being tortured and I had never seen her react to pain at all, never mind as if someone was beating her.

Several days of hell ensued. Multiple vet/E.R. appointments got us nowhere. Then the day after Christmas, I realized she was almost completely paralyzed. I was able to get a hold of a supervisor in the E.R.who said she read what happened when Molly was brought in and I was to put her in a car immediately and rush her to the MSPCA Angell  Boston Animal Hospital, two hours away. Because of my own limitations at the time, I had to call a friend to get her in my car for me. We drove to Boston, during a major winter storm. I honestly thought we might not make it there in one piece. I also knew that I had to try and get her there.

She received the best possible medical care there. After a lot of tests, I was told that she had a ruptured lumbar disk in her back and that was why she was paralyzed and couldn’t go to the bathroom correctly. I was told that a $5000 surgery was needed and it was thought that the surgery would help her walk again and get rid of her pain, but there were no guarantees. Even if the surgery accomplished all this, she would most likely be incontinent of urine and stool the rest of her life. I could do the surgery, or have her put to sleep. The decision was mine.

I don’t know if words can adequately express the agony in making that decision. The only financial resources I had at the time was some money from the sale of my house during my first marriage. But, I was also on disability and that was the only money I had in the world to fall back on. Taking $5000 out of it could have serious consequences for me in the future. I also wanted to do what was best for Molly. I didn’t want to prolong her life if it meant a life of  pain and suffering. Would I even be able to care for her long-term? The aftercare from the surgery alone would be incredibly difficult.

I remember my boyfriend at the time (my now husband) just holding me and letting me cry. I prayed a lot. I decided to go ahead with the surgery.

Molly came home several days later. She was never incontinent after the surgery and made a full recovery. The doctors were astounded. I know we were lucky. We trudged through the following few weeks of her recovery together.

The years since that day I made that difficult decision have been a blessing. I got married. Molly took really well to my new husband and once we moved into his home, she rarely ever had separation anxiety issues. She remained my constant companion. She continued to be by my side during several medical crises. She kept me company during those long days and weeks when I couldn’t get out of bed and my husband was at work all day. She was my emotional healer.

It has been an interesting experience watching her age, and a precious one at that. I’ve never been responsible for a senior dog before and I will say, I treat it as a privilege. I watch her get grayer with each passing week. I see how drastically she has slowed down in the past year or two. No more one hour walks romping through the park. No more play dates at the dog park because it is just too much for her. We have to be vigilant about keeping on top of her pain medications and some other health issues, especially as the arthritis continues to progress from her back surgery all those years ago. I have made a commitment to her that when she is ready to go, I will not prolong her life.

I will not let her suffer.

Mother’s Day passed by recently and I was so appreciate of the dog mom friends I have on Facebook who were so happy to claim themselves as dog moms with all the different memes. I never had children of my own and Molly has helped fill the maternal need that I have. I have taken some crap about that and heard all the jokes, but really, it is serious business. She instinctively knows when I am suffering, either physically or emotionally. She acts in ways that make my husband and I laugh so hard, we can make a whole evening of it. She gives and gives and gives to us every day, expecting nothing in return. Sometimes society, and the people in it, judge how we love. They say there is no love like the love between a mother and a child. Or you have not truly loved unconditionally unless you have a partner or a spouse,

No, love is love. We each get to define it for what it is and for how we feel it.

I had an opportunity this week to talk to someone about Molly. A person who doesn’t know her. I explained to her that it is a love like I have never known. It’s not better or worse than the love I have for my husband or say, my parents, but it is very different. It is the fierce, protective love that is demonstrated by putting her needs before my own and trust me, it has happened many times. It is a quiet, unconditional love that has no rules; no boundaries, no expectations.

It is a love of true acceptance.

Up until recently, I was sometimes afraid to love Molly over the past two years. I knew she was getting towards the end of her days and I thought the pain of the loss would be more than I could bear. A few things happened to change that. I started leaving situations out of my control in God’s hands. I realized that I could make more out of the time we do have left. I would also see profiles on dog rescue sites of elderly dogs abandoned by their owners, because they could no longer care for them. Dogs who have multiple health issues. Elderly dogs who get treated in many ways similar to elderly people in this country-like they are disposable.

I made the very difficult decision this week to have Molly put under anesthesia to get her teeth cleaned. It was a difficult decision because of her age, a heart murmur and a new found problem with one of her liver tests.There was some concern though that two of her teeth were very bad and maybe causing her pain, Some of those in my life disagreed with my decision, but I was OK with that. I made my decision based on my promise to her: that I would not let her suffer, no matter what. If it was God’s will to take her during the procedure, then she would go peacefully, with no more pain.

The procedure ended up being twice as long and twice as difficult as anticipated. Seven teeth had to be extracted, as well as some root work that included a bone graft. A biopsy also needed to be performed. She is now recovering well and while I am grateful, I am not really surprised. She’s a fighter that one. And now, she will live whatever time she has left without pain.

And we will love her just as much as ever.

Loving Someone With A Chronic Illness

March 11, 2015 / / 2 Comments

This post is being prompted by an incident that occurred last night. One that unfortunately, happens more often than I would like. And much more often than my husband would like. As I have talked about previously on this blog and on its Facebook page, I have been struggling with some issues regarding my feet. The issues started last July and after seeing a doctor, I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis and tarsal tunnel syndrome in both feet.

The short version of the story is that I have been through months of physical therapy, countless doctor’s appointments, night splints, trigger point therapy, orthotics in my shoes, the list goes on and on. It is likely that Sjögren’s is a contributing factor and possibly the cause of this. Starting in December, I decided, after much consideration, to consent to cortisone injections in both feet. I had one in each foot with some relief, but the relief was only temporary. I then had a second injection in my right foot two weeks ago today and after a few days of some relief, things went from bad to worse, and pretty quickly I might add.

My right foot is now at the point where the tarsal nerve is so messed up and irritated, that a good part of my foot is numb. I am also getting little electric-like sensation from time to time and some pain. I am scheduled for an MRI at the end of this week and have been given strict orders from my doctor to stay off my feet as much as possible, with the exception of going to work. Luckily, I only work about two to three days a month for six and a half hours at a time. I was told absolutely no exercising or long distance driving, and I had to give up the one thing that always helps my stress and that is yoga.

So after working a regular shift at the school yesterday, I started with some pain around 5pm that by 8pm, had me reduced to tears. While I figured it was good that I could actually FEEL something in my foot, the pain became unbearable. Despite how much I go through with Sjögren’s and pain, it is rare for me to end up in tears over it. The pain medicine I could take would likely keep me awake all night, but I decided to go ahead and take it, as well as some heavy duty sleep medication that I save for emergencies like this. Today I woke up rested, and with a numb foot again. But, crisis temporarily under control.

My husband was with me last evening and I have to say, he did a fantastic job of helping me through the evening. It is so hard for him, I know it is. We laid in bed together watching TV for several hours while I worked through this incident. Actually, WE worked through this incident together. However I know it is hard for him because we have talked about this issue enough for me to now understand how difficult it is for him to see me in pain or in a really bad way.

I didn’t really know this or get it when we first got together…how much he struggles when things go bad with me. I didn’t know because he is so stoic and calm. He always tries to cover his fears for my sake. But I know. Now I do anyways.

As we have grown together as a couple, our talks have helped him to understand my needs and what works for me. And the talks have also helped me to understand some of what he is going through when I am having a medical crisis of some sorts. And what works for us may not work for every person with a chronic illness or the person that is trying to care for them or help them.

Last night, like all the other times recently, he really got it right. Trial and error I suppose. And some really good communication on both our parts. For example, when I am in that much pain, I want to be held, but not too tight. Its hard for me to have the TV too loud or too much stimulation around me. I also need some type of physical distraction so what he does is he gently rubs my head, or massages my legs, or some other physical touch that helps my brain distract from the pain that I am experiencing. As long as it doesn’t involve the part that is actually hurting.

Sometimes.

And other times, it does help to touch the part that is hurting, although with nerve pain like I had last night, that was not the case. So how does he know? He asks me. And I am direct in telling him. And it works. And it works when he gets out of bed for the third time to get me the Motrin I forgot to take when I was up the previous time. And it works when he distracts me with ridiculous jokes or stories.

He also listens intently to what I am saying about my pain experience, if I even want to talk about it which if I don’t, we have quiet time. When I talk about it, and he listens, he helps me figure out what the best course of action to take. For example last night, I was trying to decide if I should go ahead and take the pain medication because if I did, I would also have to take something to help me sleep. Otherwise the lack of sleep would worsen the pain cycle. However my husband knows that I am very careful about taking possibly addictive substances like this too often. He helps me think it through out loud to determine if yes, this is necessary or no, I can wait it out and see what happens. Last night, it was necessary.

Its not easy loving someone with a chronic illness.It takes an incredible amount of love and dedication to live this lifestyle each and every day with someone. One thing that I know has helped my husband is that he attends SSF support groups with me. Not only does it give him an opportunity to hear what it is like for other people to live with my illness, but it gives him a chance to talk to other partners, spouses, and caregivers about their experiences. At the last support group meeting we went to, he mentioned to me, after talking with other spouses, that he didn’t realize how many Sjögren’s patients also have a difficult time going out in the evening because by 6pm or so, they are ready for bed. Going out in the evening is a very difficult thing for my husband and I because I am absolutely exhausted and ready for bed. It takes a lot of preparation and pre-planning on my part to get myself out of the house in the evening. And, a lot of rest beforehand. Because he is aware of that, he makes sure to consult with me about activities, especially ones that just involve the two of us. For example, we don’t go to the 8pm showing of a movie. You will instead find us at the 1 or 2pm matinee, where by the way, we save a ton of money going to an earlier show!

I used to feel guilty about the effects my illness has on my husband. I think I even blogged about that very topic at one point. I no longer feel that way though. And the reason for that is simple:

I no longer let my illness define every aspect of my life.
At least most days.
And together, we have established and defined what our normal consists of.

And with the help of his love, I have come to understand that yes, life is more challenging for us than for many other couples, but despite that, I have just as much to offer a partner as anyone else. Throughout all this, all my husband asks from me, both on my good days and on my bad ones, is that I love him.

And I do.
Completely, and without reservation.

And that makes every single day worth fighting for.

Loving Molly

November 11, 2014 / / 1 Comment

I was at a dinner party with a group of friends last evening and one particular couple and I were discussing the topic of our dogs. After years and years of love and devotion, they recently had to put down their fourteen year old beloved pet this past year and in exchanging stories about pets, I found myself sharing my story about Molly. They had read anecdotes and seen pictures of her on Facebook, but didn’t know some of the details of my trials and tribulations with Molly, my thirteen year old basset hound and black lab mix.

I was scrolling through my blog today and I realized that I don’t write about Molly much here. I did write about her back in 2010 when we went through a horrible medical experience together. One which resulted in me having to make a decision about whether to put her down, or spend $5,000 on a surgery that looked promising in some aspects, but held no promises for either of us in terms of her quality of life. A story I am happy to say, had a happy ending of a full recovery for Molly.

I was thinking this morning about that difficult time I went through with Molly and realized that I understood why, despite the fact that I talk about her all the time with my family and friends, I never write about her…

Because I don’t need to.

Because a lot of the time, writing is therapeutic for me and my connection to this dog is so pure, and so untouched by the unsavory elements that normally affect personal relationships, that there is no need to process my feelings about her. There is no fighting, no misunderstandings, no hurt feelings, no family drama, no unfulfilled expectations.

Just love.

And a mean, pure love.

I never had children of my own. That’s a long story in itself for another day. I saw a posting recently on Facebook, not from anyone in my family, or close friend circle luckily, in which several comments were made in response to a woman (without any children) who said that her dogs are like her children. The responses went on and on about how a dog, or any pet, is nothing like having a child and that people need to stop comparing being a pet owner with being a parent. I have read stuff like this before in articles and such, but this particular thread really got to me.

To begin with, Molly is like a child to me. Yes, I am completely sane and as a pediatric nurse, a stepmother to adult children, and a person who has a million friends with children, I do understand it is different. I understand that while my dog fulfills many of the same desires and needs that a child fulfills for a parent, it is not quite the same thing and having Molly as a pet, no matter how much I love and care for her, will never fulfill the loss I feel from not having a child.

I also understand that this dog and I have traveled through life together for ten years together and I would guess that most people in my life could never fully comprehend what we have been through together: losing half of our former family, our home, the nights we have spent alone together on the couch…

The time where I didn’t think I could care for her anymore and had the phone number in my hand for a basset hound rescue…

The Christmas Eve I stayed up all night with her when she was in agony…

The nights she stayed up with me when I was in agony…

The blizzard I drove two hours in to get her to an emergency room when she became paralyzed…

The night I stayed up trying to make a decision about whether she would be better off being put down or having a surgery that I could not afford…

The moment I saw her walk towards me several days after that surgery…

These are just a few examples of the journey we have been on in the past ten years. She has taught me the meaning of unconditional love. Isn’t unconditional love what being a parent is about? Some of the comments in response to that post I mentioned above stated that until you become a parent, you cannot know what that kind of love is like. I disagree. I think as a person who has never had a child of her own, yes, I do not know what it is like to raise a child. But that does not mean that I do not know how to love unconditionally and without reservation. It concerns me greatly that as a society, we judge each other on how we love. Or that we condemn each other on the love that we do have for all living creatures.

I rescued Molly from a shelter in 2004. She has been rescuing me ever since. At the age of 13, I know our time together is limited and will come to an end much sooner than I would like. She takes medication to manage her thyroid, her stomach, and the resulting arthritis pain from her 2010 surgery. She moves slower at times and is not the spry young thing she once was. However she still has a good quality of life and so we continue on. And the thought of her being gone forever scares me. But for now, I will love her. I will care for her. I will take advantage of every single day that we have left together. I will let her love me. And when the time comes, no matter how difficult it will be, I will be by her side when she is ushered to the other side.

Because that is love.

What Does It Mean To Love Someone?

December 9, 2013 / / 0 Comments

I have had the topic of love on the brain lately. And by love I don’t mean just the romantic kind, but rather, the love that exists between two human beings, no matter what the relationship is. I was married six months ago, I went to a family wedding recently, I have ended several relationships in the past year for one reason or another, and I have this crazy dog that is getting older whom I love more than just about anything else in this world. My capacity to love is great and my ability to receive love is even greater.

We are so reckless with the term “love” sometimes. The words come tumbling out of our mouths, sometimes without a second thought. Maybe I am a bit of a skeptic on this topic, but to me, there is no such thing as love at first sight. I can hear the readers gasp as they read this, as I have made no secret about my overwhelming and whirlwind courtship with my husband. My attraction to him was immediate, but I did not “fall in love with him” at first sight. That was more of a chemical pheromone reaction.  I fell in love with him when he talked to me on our first date about the impact that his sister’s Multiple Sclerosis has had on him. I fell in love with him when he talked about his two children and what it was like to raise them. I fell in love with him when, seeing how exhausted I was one evening, he went to find the leash and took my dog out for me before he left my apartment for the night.

I have had people tell me they love me at times and it has made me scratch my head: a new friend who tells me she loves me as she is verbalizing, in detail, all the ways in which I have failed as a friend. There is a fine line between open communication and honesty, and someone who is holding your hand to the fire while they are saying things supposedly for your own good. I have received e-mails that start with “I love you but….” while they continue to describe the ways that I have been wrong. I have also done the same; believing that by reminding a person that I love them, it will somehow lessen the blow of my honesty. I have had people tell me they love me while looking me directly in the eye and tell me lie after lie. These events are not exclusive to me; they happen to us all and as human beings, we are capable of doing them to other people.

While thinking about what it means to love, it has raised the question for me if we always understand what love is about. We, as a society, are so frivolous with the word, love, itself. We love this person and that person, oftentimes before we even develop a true relationship with them. We say we love someone based on their gregarious personality, or their compassion for other people, or maybe even because we are obligated to, because they are related to us.

But what is love really about? I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I know what it is not:

It does not envy.

It does not boast.

It is not self-seeking.

It is not proud.

It does not dishonor others.

Thank you Corinthians 13…

I know love is much more complicated than that. But we all have to start somewhere. Corinthians 13 also says that “love never fails.” But is this true? We hear it said at so many weddings nowadays, but yet half of all marriages end in divorce. Does that mean that we never really loved in the first place or is it possible for love to fail? Or maybe it is more accurate to say that we, as people, failed?

I heard it said recently that love is a verb and not a noun. I understand the point the speaker was trying to make: that love is an action. But, I disagree that it is not a noun. Yes, love is an action or a verb. We love someone. We show love to someone. We do acts of love. But to me, it is also a noun. Love is this THING that is so much greater than ourselves. It is a spiritual force that drives us to do things that we may not normally do, or even want to do. Love compels us to accept those in our lives, despite their faults. Love compels us to forgive. Love is the presence in our homes, churches, schools and such that make our souls sing…

It is patient.

It is kind.

It always protects,
always trusts,
always perseveres,
and always hopes.

That is love.

« Older posts

© 2024 For Everything There is a Season

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑