Love Deeply, Suffer Often

To love God and to love your neighbor - Jesus says there are no greater commandments than these. Did you know that within these two commands, the Greek word for love does not change? So the same Greek word for love that we are told to have for God is the same we are to have for our neighbor. Yes, a part of loving God is serving Him. But if we serve Him but do not know Him or allow Him to know us, I’m afraid He will tell us to depart (Mt. 7:21-23). I wonder then if to love our neighbor is not only to serve them but to know them and be known by them. For how else could love be love than to know the one whom you are loving. Anything else is, at best, kindness.

We are eager to be called humanitarian and praise the philanthropic but when you dive into the definitions of these words there is a gaping hole where love belongs. No, it is not insinuated. Humanitarianism and philanthropy have to do with welfare. We want people to be healthy, happy, prosperous and successful. What’s wrong with that? Nothing except for what is or isn’t separating you from the utopist.

We’ve seen the movies and read the books – all utopian societies turn into places that trade in the person for the ideal. The hero always chooses the person.

It’s easy to see it when presented so clearly. If someone asks you to choose between right and wrong the answer would be simple. But if, instead, we are asked to choose between what’s right and what’s normal, we have to pause and first assess what’s normal.

Love is not normal. Care and kindness I think we can get by with but only because it keeps us two rooms away from where the person resides.

If you don’t have the time take the walk two doors down, then support those who do in the way that you are not guilted into but how you are called. Each person is different. But if you expect some sort of quantifiable return on your investment to measure whether or not you think your efforts are worthwhile, be sure to ask God to do the same to you. And if God feels too lofty or you happen not to believe in Him, then try your parents, your partner, your best friend or anyone who has undeniably loved you even when it didn’t pay off.

Care is distant. Love is close. And when we are close, we rejoice with those who rejoice and we mourn with those who mourn (Rom. 12:15).

About three weeks ago I ran into two teens that used to be in my Sunday School class. They told me their grandmother, whom I’d shared a years’ worth of time getting to know, had fallen at work and been in the hospital for 4-6 weeks. The relief I’d felt in finding that she’d only fallen and hadn’t died after my initial panic of hearing the question, “did you hear what happened to our grandma?” was quickly replaced with heartache as they continued to explain that the trauma of the fall had led to 90% of her brain shutting off.

It took me another two weeks to figure out the hospital and room where she still was. Finally, after church one Sunday, I brought the vase of small blue flowers I’d gotten from the farmer’s market the day before. Blue because it was her favorite color. I parked, waited in line to check in, and championed the maze I find every hospital to be until I found her room.

I walked in expecting to slip in and slip out as she would be unconscious. Only a few steps in and I paused. Her eyes were open and her head was turned toward the bright window directly across from me. I took another step to get a closer look. Something was off. This wasn’t her. Well, maybe it was. I checked the white board detailing her family members and professional team. Yes. This was her. But the woman I looked at appeared to be 104, not 64. She had a trach, a feeding tube, her jaw was offset, her body brittle, and though her eyes were open they locked onto nothing. My eyes began to water as I compared the woman before me to the image of the one I’d known. But I knew once I started to cry it would become more than what this hospital room could handle. So I set down the flowers and talked to her. Slowly. Carefully. I wasn’t sure what I should pray so I asked God and then I prayed that. Ten minutes later, I left.

There is no pain like the pain of those you love. And for me, the only way through is to write. So I wrote this the next day:

“Dear ___________,

 I miss hearing your voice ask me, “so how is your friend?” with a grin and a side eye. When I think of you I think of us sitting in my car in your driveway as we met every week for a year. I think about just you and I going to dinner to celebrate your graduation. I do wish I’d done more to celebrate you, not that that changes anything. I also think about the story you shared with me about your boyfriend bleeding out in your arms after his ex-girlfriend shot him. I think about that one a lot. I think about it because it’s increasingly shocking the things people experience. In my heart I always hope that lives turn out for the better - into beautiful stories because of beautiful endings. Like everything comes together for some incredible all purposeful conclusion. So I suppose seeing you yesterday – your body betraying your spirit – felt like no way to end. I guess, even after all this time, the brokenness of this world still breaks me.”

Care is distant. Love is close.