baby, don’t hurt me
It’s funny we only ask ourselves what love is when it’s going wrong. Many times young people learn and define love ad reductio, by learning constantly what it is not. I do a lot of my own sofa philosophy on the subject in this manner quite often. Through various relationships and almost relationships, I’ve learned time and again what love is not. Love is not abuse. Love is not the exploitation of trust. Love is not insecure. Love is not physical chemistry. Love is not the fear of being alone.
The most important thing that I’ve learned is that this method of discovery is tiresome and ineffective: there are way too many things that love is not. I am quite certain that before I was to get anywhere near a workable definition of love ad reductio, I would be long dead or at least on my 4637th heartbreak. I’m not so confident that I’d survive that many. Oftentimes, I resent the social narrative of my generation that demands that I conform to this trial and error method of love. It’s dangerous. It hurts. And humans are forgetful, which means that we’ll probably have to learn the same lesson more than once before we’re able to internalize and accept it as part of our learned behavior. My deep unmet needs produce patterns of the curriculum of love, and at the end of each study, I’m just exhausted, angry, and self-righteous.
On the brighter side, my most lasting and impactful experiences of love are the ones that are the ones that show me what it is, rather than what it is not. The first such experience is with God himself, love a priori, who taught me that love is unconditional. The second is with my dad, who showed me that love is humble. The third is with Kyle, who is showing me that love is brave. In other words, ad reductio, love is not conditional, prideful, or fearful.
I think growing up in a minister’s home filtered the message of God’s love through the brokenness of the church. Everything for a minister’s family feels conditional. My parents’ jobs relied on our family’s ability to add value to the lives of the people we served. No value added, no worth. Our value as a family was conditional because the body we served was not mature enough to give us grace and to give us emotional safety. A safety that is needed in order to understand the delight of God’s unconditional love for us through his church. Working for God was inextricably entangled with working for approval, working for church, and working for righteousness. Grandfathered into serving the church, I unknowingly believed a works-based salvation.
It wasn’t until, after getting out of my first relationship, when I was unable to breathe or get out of bed in the morning because the emotional abuse had crippled my health, that I was truly able to experience the love that God offers me freely and without measure. I was unable to function even in the most basic ways (sleep, food, breathing). Yet, God sent me people who told me every day that I was worthy and that I was loved. Even when I was, for all intents, purposes, and goals, was useless. None of these friends were Christians, but through them I learned what safety feels like. To be held and not judged is to taste a greater gift and to touch the very thing that Jesus died for us to have.
