How Do I Love Thee?

Two nights ago, after a particularly devastating episode of “This is Us” (who am I kidding…nearly every episode is devastating when you’re either: child of an addict, recovering addict, married to recovering addict, estranged from a child, watching your daughter divorce, adjusting to the empty nest, a singer whose voice is in her past, struggling with body dysmorphia…), my sweet husband, who was sitting on the floor with our beagle, looked up at me with the most woeful, teary eyes. I climbed onto the floor and into his lap and we just cuddled and comforted. And with my arms wrapped around him, I wondered: Why? Why do I love him so? Why does he love me? Why? And not for the first time, I settled on this answer. Who cares why? It’s enough to know its truth.

We have, at times, even asked each other, “Why do you love me?” It’s an unanswerable question. This morning, I was listening to SuperSoul, and Pastor A.R. Bernard said that when we love each other for no reason- that’s unconditional love.

I mean sure, I can make a list of things I love about my husband. I love his laugh, his blue eyes, his easy access to deep and profound thought, his capacity for peace-keeping, his legs. I love the kind of father he is. I love how he wants to protect me from harm, whether it’s an advancing category five hurricane or a work colleague who is showing me something less than respect.

But why do I love him? I just…do.

I guess it’s what bothers me about making lists of why we love someone. This last Valentine’s Day, I saw one of those social media posts that tells you how to be a good parent. And you would put all these cut out hearts on your kid’s door with the reasons why you love them (specifically it said that, not “things you love about them”). And one of the hearts said along the lines of “You play basketball well.” And I thought…If I am a kid whose well-meaning mom said she loved me because I played basketball well, what would happen if I couldn’t play any more? What would happen if I couldn’t play well anymore? Kids want to know that they’re loved. Just because. Same with spouses. Just because.

Someday, my husband’s brain will be less sharp. His laugh will be creaky. His legs will be veiny. I know I won’t care.

Image result for how do i love thee

Elizabeth Barret Browning put it so perfectly in her famous sonnet, in which she enumerates the ways, not the whys of her love:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Truest, deepest love doesn’t have a reason. It just is.

An Open Letter to The Christian Left

 

This morning, I felt I had to leave a Facebook group that I had, for the most part, been enjoying. I joined The Christian Left based on the recommendation of a college friend with whom I had recently reconnected. We both graduated from the same private evangelical Christian university, and it’s somewhat unusual to find alumni who share at least some of my crazy Leftist leanings.

I am a Liberal. There. I said it. I said it in Montgomery County, Texas. I said it as the rarest bird in my neck of the woods.

“I am a Liberal. That means I look ahead, not behind. I welcome new ideas without rigid reactions. I care about the welfare of the people: their jobs, housing, schools, and health; their civil rights and their civil liberties”

The above is a meme I have been seeing floating around in the cyberspace world, I have no idea whom to credit. It pretty well sums up how I see myself.

Most of my family is pretty Conservative- the Tea Party movement resonates for them. My neighbors as well. My husband wouldn’t let me put a Hillary for President sign in the yard for fear the house would be egged. My Obama campaign signs got ripped in half in 2012. I have cringed at the ugly  faces contorted with anger seen at Trump rallies, cried at the Nazi salutes being thrown. Shuddered at David Duke’s endorsement of Trump and his refusal to repudiate it. I have shaken my head at Betsy DeVos’ agenda and Paul Ryan’s sycophancy.

I have called and mailed and e mailed my senators and representatives, at both state and federal levels (Unfortunately, Ted Cruz thought I was writing in support and put me on a mailing list. I called his office pronto).

We donate money to Public Radio/TV, a local theatre, an animal shelter, a global humanitarian organization, an environmental advocacy group, and Planned Parenthood (because women need resources and if abortions are going to happen-and you’re blessedly naive if you think they aren’t- they need to be safe).

I really do try to walk, not just talk, my belief system. And I feel pretty isolated. So I was thrilled to learn there might be a Facebook community that shared my ideals and my open-hearted approach. For a month, I have been seeing a daily scripture, usually about caring for the less fortunate, and seeing mostly useful news stories about relevant issues.

Until this week.

The POTUS had his physical. And the one page where I thought it would be safe to read the comments became a mixture of sarcasm, body shaming, name calling, and hate.

Do I believe the official height and weight that they say Trump is? No. Does it matter? No. And I know some people would say, “It’s just one more lie on top of so many. It shows a pattern.” Yeah, I get that. But when there are two posts by The Christian Left in one twenty four hour period about his weight, and this photo leads:Image may contain: one or more people and text

When the comments are:

  • if that is true then I am the virgin Mary
  • Sorry, he ate the moon, it looked like a big mac
  • What, they are referring just to his ass?

Then we have a problem. I, along with others, tried to call TCL out on it. We tried to point out that there are bigger issues, even bigger lies, on which to focus. That didn’t go so well:

  • “Kimberly, take a chill pill…Venting is healthy. So many of us feel hopeless with the nuclear button threat. Too bad Kimberly only sees things her way. Bless your teeny tiny heart Kimberly, may it grow like the Grinch’s did.” That’s from a nice lady named DeeAnn, who, though she has never met me says I have a tiny and judgemental heart.

It’s no wonder we are not making headway, Liberals.

A third post on TCL’s page within the same time frame shows a photo of Trump with a signature and the caption “I know how to write my name!” Of course he does. This particular post was the intellectual equivalent of blowing a raspberry or calling “Nanny nanny boo boo.”

Where’s the smart and mature resistance, folks?

I have held such hopes that the left side would adhere to the former First Lady’s exhortation. That we could, by taking the high road, show all those haters at the white supremacist rallies and Tea Party functions that love wins (Thanks, Rob Bell).

Alas, that’s not the case. So I left the group, unliked the page, and headed over to my BFF (in my fantasy life) Brene’ Brown’s page. At the top? This quote from Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr:

“There comes a time when silence is betrayal.”

Truth. Silence is a betrayal. But we must choose our words wisely. Me? I will speak to injustice and call out cruelty, whether it’s from the Left or Right. I will speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4:15). I really hope my like-minded brothers and sisters will too.

 

 

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