Love Revolution

Youth is the time for ideals.  Adulthood is the time to achieve those ideals.  It’s what the stages of life are about, it’s what we live for, these ideals.  Each person changes the world, because the world cannot stay the same. We can’t help having ideals, we can only guide them.

One of the greatest ideals is love.  Real love, the love that everyone seeks for and few find because they look for it in the wrong places.  What kind of love is the ideal? Divine love or earthly love?

Unlike divine love, earthly love does not have the power, the knowledge, or the will to achieve what it longs for. (Wendell Berry)

What we long for is the love that can achieve what it longs for: the love that will satisfy, divine love.  Though we don’t often know it, we are consumed by a desire to be completed, and this desire, some find too late, does not come from our physical being but from our soul.

The sober person lives deeply. His pleasures are not primarily those of the senses, like the pleasures of the drunkard, for instance, but those of the soul. He is by no means a stoic, on the contrary, with a full measure of joyful anticipation he looks forward to the return of the Lord but he doesn’t run away from his task. – William Hendrickson

Imagine a love that is founded in respect, that contains gratitude and humility, that takes its chief delight in sacrifice in order to serve.

Maybe I always saw the past as beautiful because it was fleeting.  As the future met me, it passed, and became the past, and was beautiful.  I had an aversion to change, and it seemed like everyone was changing, breaking out and flying away.  I didn’t see myself as changing, but others must have thought so, because I was caught up in the change of those closest to me, and it was their change that changed me.

The only changeful thing I did was to get married, and even that had been predicted.  Clyde was sick, had been crippled from birth.  I had known him since I was born, and when I was a girl I used to go and read to him, or amuse him.  He liked that, though he was six years older, and I liked to make him laugh.  He became a natural part of my life, and I never wanted anything more than to take care of him.

When we were still children, he asked me if I would up and leave the town someday. I told him no, because then he couldn’t come with me.  Later when I promised to marry him, he was hesitant to tie me down.  I told him I would make the same commitment if he was well or sick, but I liked it best when I could take care of him.

We live quietly, others come and go.  My heart aches with all this change, because it doesn’t happen quietly.  They are caught up in an external change.  They don’t know what it is to care for someone so as to sacrifice your life to their service, they don’t know what it is to do so joyfully.  They missed the inner change in their rush, the quiet, the sublime.

The above was a story I wrote when I was thinking deeply about this idea of real love.   I thought about how it is founded in sacrifice, I thought about how my heart beats and how my life is sustained by the breath of life, but how my soul is saved and redeemed by a sacrifice, and so, by love.

If we could have this love!  If we could only love each other in the way love was meant to be demonstrated!  We cheapen it, we make it less than it’s worth, and you see it rampant in the culture and even, sadly, in the Church.  It is more than a feeling; love is your soul, your existence.

Why is it that the hero who gives up his life or himself for love inspires us?  We admire those Sydney Cartons and those Cyrano de Bergeracs, and yet we throw our love away, or we throw away the feeling that might have, with effort and work, deepened into an actual reality.

Love cannot be restored.  How can it be restored if it can never be taken away? It is fixed—real love is.  If you stopped loving someone you never truly loved them.  Love never ends, it is always there, always present, always with us, in us, around us.  It is either our failure to see, or our misuse of love that makes us believe it is a sham.  The word sham reminds me of a quote.

Sham love ends in compromise and common philosophy; but real love has always ended in bloodshed. – Orthodoxy (G.K. Chesterton)

Chesterton also says that because love desires personality it desires division.

It is the instinct of Christianity to be glad that God has broken the universe into little pieces, because they are living pieces. It is her instinct to say “little children love one another” rather than to tell one large person to love himself.

Love was meant to be given away, not with-held.  But there is a difference between emotional love and soul-love, just as there is a difference between sibling love and marital love, though the parallel is different.  Soul-love, the real love, cannot be hurt or offended in the way emotional love can be.  It is constant, and cannot be quenched.  It can only be given, like a sacrifice.  It delights in returned love, but does not require it.  Emotional love that is rejected, whether by just any person or by a prospect for marriage, will always tear the heart down. I’m not saying emotional love is bad.  The emotions must be contained within soul-love, but emotional love should not exist as its own entity.

Do you know how the Christian old-maid can be perfectly content?  Because she is already loved with real love, and she is preparing for the day when she can return that love perfectly.  She will go through phases of discontent, but will always find her tranquility and peace in something deeper.  For when the mind and soul are truly committed, the senses can be controlled.

I admire such a woman, and I would be like her if I could.  Even if I get married, I want to be like this before marriage, for I would learn how to love the true Object, Christ, and be fulfilled.  1 Corinthians 13 is a wonderful passage, but isn’t paid attention to as it ought to be.  It describes love as the essence of life, basically.   It describes it as being patient, self-sacrificial, never-ending, able to endure the stormiest weather.   Love can bear all things, yet it is tender, it is strong, yet kind, it is not arrogant or rude, but it is truthful, desires truth, and rejoices with the truth.

Death and love are seldom thought of together in a proper sense.  I have two friends, the first friend told me: “You get annoyed with love and fascinated by death.”  And it’s true.  I get annoyed with the meaningless expression and feeling that people call love.  The second friend told me: “The funny thing is that death and love are intertwined.  Without love, death is hopeless.”  They are so connected with each other, because love pushes for death that it might attain the perfect love, that it might finally reach its object.  Also, because the ultimate death occurred by and through love.  Christ died for us because he loved us, was willing to suffer infinite humiliation and death because he cares for us.

I imagine the dead waking, dazed, into a shadowless light in which they know themselves altogether for the first time. It is a light that is merciless until they can accept its mercy; by it they are at once condemned and redeemed. It is Hell until it is Heaven.  Seeing themselves in that light, if they are willing, they see how far they have failed the only justice of loving one another; it punishes them by their own judgment. And yet, in suffering that light’s awful clarity, in seeing themselves within it, they see its forgiveness and its beauty, and are consoled.  In it they are loved completely, even as they have been, and so are changed into what they could not have been but what, if they could have imagined it, they would have wished to be. – A World Lost (Wendell Berry)

The love described there was the kind of love that achieved what it longed for.  It was a love not created by us but developed in us, and realized by death and rebirth.

If the purpose of marriage was love (not real love) then the divorce rate would be 99.9%.  The .1% is for the couples who actually stayed “in love” for the whole of their married lives.  Thankfully, marriage is not about love.  It is a commitment with divine sanctioning, that aims at deeper ends than for the participants to be near each other for the rest of their lives.  I realize I’ve never been married and have no right to speak in depth about this, but I have to say this.  There is work in marriage I think, hard work, and if it is the right kind it results in satisfaction.  If we could try to pursue real love then we would find that we could really be satisfied.  For to me, marriage is partly a joint-effort, not to find love for each other, but to pursue real love and to reach the Object of that real love.

It is a zeal tempered with prudence, softened with meekness, soberly aiming at great ends by the gradual operation of well adapted means, supported by a courage which no danger can intimidate, and a quiet constancy which no hardships can exhaust. – A Practical View of Christianity (William Wilberforce)

This is a description of the Christian’s zeal in the Church.  I imagine that love is the exact same.  Yet listen to what he says about the Affections within a Christian.

Of the two most celebrated systems of philosophy, the one expressly confirmed the usurpation of the passions; while the other, despairing of being able to regulate, saw nothing left but to extinguish them. The former acted like a weak government, which gives independence to a rebellious province, which it cannot reduce.  The latter formed its bloated scheme merely upon the plan of that barbarous policy, which composes the troubles of a turbulent land by the extermination of its inhabitants.  This is the calm, not of order, but of inaction; it is not the tranquillity, but the stillness of death. (To plunder, butcher, steal, these things they misname empire: they make a desolation and call it a peace. – Tacitus.) – A Practical View of Christianity  (William Wilberforce)

I’m not proposing stoicism at all.  I think that passion is an important part of love, but I believe most fervently that it is not love.  It can be its own entity, but when separated from Love, it becomes a beast, and makes animals of us all.

Love does not concern itself with advantages.  It is not competitive.  It allows us to confront in kindness, but it has nothing to do with self-pride.  It allows us to live in humility.

We need a love revolution.  And a revolution takes work.  When looking for a husband or wife, the first person to catch your eye is not always the right one.  (“Less vividly is the mind stirred by what finds entrance through the ears than by what is brought before the trusty eyes. . . ” – Horace)  Don’t listen to your heart, which is and has proved to be deceitful above all things, but listen to the principles that are firmly grounded within you.  Why should we forsake all our work?  The woman preparing to be a spinster loses nothing in all her work when she unexpectedly gets a husband.  She has someone to work alongside now, a further encouragement, another object for the love she’s seeking to imitate.

I have been convicted about love.  Adulthood is the time to carry out and pursue ideals, and I am entering on that stage.  This is the one pursuit that will not disappoint.  How can it, when it is founded in Christ?  It is done for him, and for him alone.  He is the only Object.  He has brought me into the world in his providence, he will take me out, he will greet me in death, he is sanctifying and will finally perfect me.  He is the solid foundation, the aim I’m working towards.  He is love, and I pray for his love to flow through me, so that I become wrapped in it, enamored with it, so that it is in me and through me, so that it becomes my very being.

Christmas Children

Last night I was doing absolutely nothing.  In fact I think I was wasting time, which is worse than nothing. My eight year old brother Luther came thumping up my stairs.

“Can I sleep with you? Duncan and Gabriel are watching The Birds with mommy and daddy and I don’t want to go to bed by myself.  And I get to sleep with Duncan every night, but I don’t get to sleep with you very often.”

I regret to say that I had a struggle.  I could easily tell him to go downstairs—Duncan would be up soon—and resume my pursuit of nothingness.  But something inside me—maybe it was the grace of God—said: “Why shouldn’t he sleep with you?  This could be a wonderful opportunity to build your relationship with your little brother.”

So I told him yes.  I said I would read for a little while, but while I was in the self-sacrifice spirit I thought I might as well ask if he wanted me to read to him instead.  He said yes.  He picked up a book that we had started a long time ago.  Castaways of the Flying Dutchman, by Brian Jacques.  We had only gotten a few chapters into it.  What I deemed to be a self-sacrificial act on my part proved to be one of enjoyment to both of us.  Luther has a brain-sponge that soaks up information.  Maps were pulled up so we could see where the seas of Tierra Del Fuego and the Cape of Good Hope were situated.  Luther explained to me why Captain Vanderdecken was so wicked.

“Because what he said about nothing being able to stop him going around Cape Horn, not even God.”

“And why is that bad?”

“Because God can do anything.”

It was a simple explanation, but I saw that he understood the captain’s defiance of God’s authority and power.

Before we went to sleep we talked.   We discussed all sorts of things.  Oceans, swimming, sharks, history, what he wants to be when he grows up.  We played a game where we listed all the different fruits.  Then we played a variation where we listed all the different vegetables.   We got so tired that there were five minute intervals before the other listed the next vegetable.  I think we both fell asleep after I said “kale.”  Throughout the night I was conscious of the little boy next to me.  He provided a comfort to my loneliness that I often experience when I miss my sister.  He was also a little heater in the bed, since my room is always very cold.  In the morning Duncan came running up the stairs and told us breakfast was ready.  Luther stumbled out of bed, his eyes half closed.

“I think I’ll get up now.”

Almost three and a half years ago my brother left home to go to Texas as an intern for a Christian company.  As a young girl of fourteen I didn’t realize that it marked the termination of his life at home.  Over the next two years he was in and out.  He struggled, and we struggled with him.  I remember writing in my journal the sorrow I felt at having him so far away.

“It feels like a limb has been cut off of my body.  After it’s cut off the limb may do whatever it likes, but the body must suffer and learn to do without it.”

Such was my rather pessimistic view on the matter, but the truth was I missed him terribly, and thought myself to be undergoing a sort of trial that was not typical for girls of my age.  I felt that it was a time to mature, to not roll with the punches but to rise up and fight them like a grown up.  Like most young girls my views on maturity were rather flawed.  When Christmas time came I thought that I must be sober-minded about it.  I was truly bothered with the idea that people got more excited about “Christmas cheer” than the birth of Christ.  Truly, I unconsciously thought we must all be moralists and pay attention only to Christmas as it had to do with Christ.  To start not caring about the presents.

Last year was my brother’s wedding.  It was a week after Christmas, so everything was traumatic during that time and Christmas was rushed.

This October my sister got married, but we have been quiet ever since then.  Our family affairs have calmed down.  There are no great changes, and low and behold, Christmas is coming.

Looking back on that year when Peter went away, on all the nights I cried myself to sleep and all the times when I thought I must mature and leave behind the childishness of my character,  I see how wrong I was.  True, it was a struggle.  It naturally took away that childish naivety.  But still children know better.

What child doesn’t like to receive gifts? What child doesn’t absolutely love Christmas?

I told one of my friends yesterday that I was as excited about Christmas as a baby.  When Tirzah was hiding a present from me I was jumping up and down outside her door saying: “I LOVE CHRISTMAS!”  I was suddenly aware of an eager anticipation build up inside of me.  I can’t wait till mommy and daddy wake us up and we come down to the brilliant room.  It is because of Christ that we are able to enjoy Christmas, and I do not think Christ was a moralist.

I see how he has changed my heart.  Even my parents enjoy the exchanging of gifts, the Christmas cheer, the lights, the music, the snow, the fellowship.  It is a time to be happy, to be glad, to be grateful.  In truth, I am beginning to realize how much sense I lost when I began to apply myself to growing up.  Last night I kept reminding myself, as I talked to Luther: “Don’t talk to him as an adult talks to a child.  Condescendingly.  Talk to him as though he’s teaching to you.  Listen to him.”  And he did teach me things.  He taught me a simplistic form of happiness by his manner of talking.  He taught me about salamanders and lizards and sharks and amphibians.  He told me a story about my mother that I had never heard before.

I want to be a Christmas child again.  Not THE Christmas Child, but a Christmas child.  The kind that enjoys life.  The child who, when Christmas is over, says with regret: “Three hundred and sixty four days until Christmas.”

It’s only seventeen days until Christmas, and I can hardly wait.

By the way.  This picture is a picture of a Christmas child.  There isn’t any snow.  But he is a Christmas child because he is happy in his youth, and he is persevering, and he is looking forward to Christmas with great impatience.  He is truly a gift to me, as are all my dear brothers.

Rainy Day Thoughts

Ever wondered why you can’t seem to articulate the fulness of something inside of you?  Like that half-thought that comes and almost takes shape, but then vanishes? Reminds me of something from The Idiot:

“In every serious human thought born in anyone’s brain there is always something left over which is impossible to communicate to others; not even if you were to write volumes on it for thirty-five years; there will always be something left which cannot be coaxed out of your brain, and which will remain with you forever; you will die with it, without ever communicating to anyone what is perhaps the essence of your thought.” (Hippolite) – The Idiot

Slightly depressing, yes?  But true.  I have a whole series of half-thoughts, and whenever I try to write about them, they never do justice to the real thought.  Is it even worth it to rack your brains in order to find the right way to express your thought so that you can communicate not the blunt edge of it, but the essence?

This is why I haven’t been able to finish all my drafts.  I feel like I can’t communicate the essence of the thought, and that without the essence, the thought is worthless.

This might be my only articulate thought at the moment:

Today we are going to get flowers.  The day is rainy, cold, and absolutely grey.  But we’re getting flowers! Dozens of them.  Bright and cheerful.  Do you know what they’re for?  A wedding.  On this grey and rainy day, we’re getting tons of happy flowers for my sister’s wedding on Saturday.  Only four more days!

I will tell you a secret.  Several, actually.

We have three people staying with us currently.

Our kitchen is still under construction.

We’re painting the halls.

The house, in short, is upside down.  And there’s a wedding in four days! Chloe’s boxes of things are packed up and stacked neatly in a corner of the room, while the results of hurried showers, rushed dressing and undressing and all sorts of things are strewn all over the floor.  Yet in the midst of this, we’re getting the cheerful flowers.  Yes, in all the tumult there is a bright thing, something that makes you smile and forget the mess.  We will defy the mess and the rainy day with the dozens of bouquets of flowers.  They put the wedding in perspective.  It’s not a gloomy and sad day.  It’s a joyous day, a symbol of a bright future where a man and a woman make a covenant before God to be a living representation on earth of Christ and His Bride.

So that is my full-thought for this rainy day. :)