Love Will Be What You Let It Be
Fuzzy blond-haired boys roll into my kitchen every day around 7:00 and proceed to order food as if they were regulars at a local breakfast dive.
More often than not, they opt for eggs, not because of taste or nutrition, but because little boys rarely get the chance to break small fragile objects or unleash gooey yellow globs…legally.
I know posting about mundane kitchen tasks like cracking eggs is choosing to memorialize a little bit of daily nothing. It doesn’t solve social injustice, it doesn’t right bad theology, it doesn’t produce landmark books or art or events.
But the substance of that moment is ripe with the sort of things that do.
Feelings of love and family. Happily embedded in moments of “home.”
My toddlers, of course, don’t know that MH370 has been declared lost, or that the U.S. is freezing Russian leaders’ assets. They don’t know that Mark Driscoll has been accused or that he apologized or that the entire Christian spectrum is up in arms about Noah or Hobby Lobby or World Vision’s hiring policies. Somehow, though, in spite of the more meta social strains, these kids are whole and well and know deep in their little cores that they’re loved.
As much as this sounds like the set-up to a mommy blogger post, let me insert here that I think the work that goes on in my kitchen every morning is the exact same work I’m drawn to everywhere else.
That, at life’s core, the challenge is always about assembling and reassembling family from the people and circumstances I find myself in. About gathering people. About loving like it matters, like it’s needed, like if we loved boldly enough it’d create more moments of “home”–where we move toward wholeness and well-being in walking this planet (despite all its strains) together.
This has been a good, full month that way.
I’ve escaped to dates at giant plastic playlands, not only to watch toddlers scurry around plastic tunnels, but to talk to the various moms perched around me. To make scattered eye contact, over toddler spills and tantrums, with Tracy–a friend I first grew accustomed to talking to while laying out high school yearbook pages or performing in spring plays 22 years ago. Or with Bethany–mother of Eli–who together with her sister Jennie, have played dozens or roles in my life over the last 15 years–roommates, fellow small group leaders, co-workers, bridesmaids–and beyond all that sisters.
There was our third annual writing retreat–a hyper-small collection of friends who hole away in a giant hunting lodge to eat and talk…and to lay the foundation for our next year of writing. All while tucked away in the icy woods.
There’s sneaking out to meet our neighbor, Jamie, from down the way to wonder aloud together about career and family and friends and personal growth…and the piles of snow that have plagued our neighborhood for far too long.
There’s the conferences that rise up like little temporary towns, gatherings of tribes returning to bits of the homeland. That bring with them the chance, for at least fleeting moments, for their attenders to be with people who spend most moments believing toward better worlds from their separate, more distant corners of this one.
There was a single, calming and orienting conversation over lobster rolls with college friend Joe and two indulgent meals with a couple of 20-something siblings who snuck into my heart as children many years ago.
There’s been family birthday parties, where little sister-in-law Jill gifted me with a healing box of chai k-cups–not because it was my birthday, but because the 18 month old had crashed and been surgically glued back together just that morning…and chai makes at least a small dent in fixing everything.
There were three straight days of March Madness, days I absorb like a recycling of Thanksgiving or Christmas, where my brothers–my real genetic, flesh-and-blood, look-like-me brothers–take up residence in our house, lugging in with them multiple TV screens and copies of NCAA brackets and food with scary amounts of preservatives. And we all lay around in sweats, just barely talking, and then heatedly talking, in cycles, as we go to great lengths to do something we could do alone…together.
And for sure, yes, there were moments of career climbing and producing, producing, producing, woven through all of these. I signed off on the back cover copy of a book that’s being re-released in April. I smiled like a little kid as a I flipped through mock-ups of a children’s book and toy that will hit the shelves in September. I plotted who knows how many campaigns to help advance who knows how many projects I believe in.
But in the end, I guess, the ordinary, bits-of-nothing moments that mean nothing to blog readers or to agents or to movers-and-shakers in this or that industry, seem just as worth telling as the others. Because as much as we try to pull the pieces of the world together through big ideas, philosophies, theology, and so-much-plotting *which clearly I do*, I am pretty sure we stir wholeness and well being just as boldly in the softer more ordinary moments. When we look at everything spiraling around us–the lost planes and Russia, Driscoll and World Vision–and we choose not to relegate our active fostering of love to meal-making with toddlers around kitchen counters.
When we extend vulnerability and belief to those who weren’t born to us, but who are bound to us by our daily experiences just the same.
When we choose to be the one who takes responsibility for loving people, whoever they are, who we find standing next to us. Not because we’re the parent, but because we believe–as deeply as any belief we hold–that the world needs more of it.
When we adamantly refuse, in the face of ongoing cycles of disappointment and accusations of idealism, to become so detached from hope that we stop being known as people of… faith.
When we decide that reality is too harsh, and society is too apathetic, that we can’t afford not to foster family wherever we go.
As adults, knowing all the dysfunctions and realities of this world that our children may sometimes be blissfully naive to, it’s so easy to become numb and emotionally afraid creatures with muted hope. To look at the world mostly through lenses of cynicism or bitterness or loss–lenses forged and continually validated through our suffering. It’s easy to shore up around self-protection and busyness, in the determined advancement of ourselves and whatever fierce battles we wage with all things wrong.
But what awakens a sometimes sleep-walking world to feeling again, to sifting out meaning again, to moments of spiritual “home” we could live alone but we choose to live together…I think it’s choosing to extend the same sort of unapologetic, fierce, everyday love often relegated to our homes to the people who come to us outside of them.
That’s what I’ve been thinking about in March anyways.
alycia parks May 23, 2014 (3:08 pm)
Honestly, I am not one to post my opinions to the public. I didn’t even know where to post it because I normally don’t even post anything Facebook. So I opened my word document just to get all these thoughts off my chest. After I was done I just sat staring at it like what to do next. Then I remembered some women’s name that I heard on the radio about how great her blog is. When I looked up your blog I saw this was the last thing you wrote. I knew it was fate since my thoughts below relate to everyone loving their neighbor. I hope you will give me some sort of feedback on your thoughts of this matter.
I have always felt God never graced me with a high amount of leadership as I enjoy being in the shadows. However, today something broke inside my heart, what has the younger generation come to? I know people say that line all the time, but I have truly become scared for the future generations. First, I will start with the fact that I know I am nowhere near perfect and neither is anyone else, no one besides God himself can own that title. However, what has happened to men respecting women. I guess you’re probably saying get to the point lady, what happened. Well this morning I decided I really needed some Sheetz iced coffee to get my day going. Sheetz is only about two blocks from my house so I decided to reflect on the beautiful day God had given me today and walk there. In this two block walk there and back, I had two different cars, both with younger men (high school age) honk or yell inappropriate things out the window. Some men say the women are asking for it by their body language or their dress attire. Well let me tell you I walked there straight outta bed, brushed my teeth and barely touched my hair or make up. I am an attractive 21 year old but I was wearing sweat pants with a t-shirt so I was nowhere close to revealing a lot of skin or anything like that. My initial thought was disgusting and to yell something in return. I then stopped in my tracks: I apologize that yelling something back was my first thought God. As Jesus said the two greatest commandments are to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind” and to love your neighbor as yourself.”
I have always been what Francis Chan described in his book Crazy Love (A MUST READ) as a lukewarm Christian. I go to church on Sundays, I give to the community when I can, I pray with God but I’ll admit am nowhere near loving God more than say I love my family or my boyfriend. I don’t give every possible cent that I can or I don’t volunteer every minute that I can. I already admitted I’m not a perfect Christian, but I am working on it. In opening my eyes to this realization that I’m not the child God wants me to be was what actually made me stop in my tracks when those young men belittled me due to my gender. As a Christian I am supposed to love them anyway because they are also children of God. I don’t think I have ever felt so sad in my entire life with a coffee in my hand. I first prayed to the Lord that I was upset at my initial reaction. I then prayed that He would give those boys the strength to be an example of a respectful young man.
I then thought about past experiences. My boyfriend is also 21 years old and when we first started dating he would open the door for the car, house, really any door EVERY TIME. I remember thinking awe this is sweet, I wonder how long it will last. My older cousin who has been married for 6 years with two young girls, he even said “yea wait till you’re married all that cute stuff will stop”. It’s been a year and a half later and the doors haven’t stopped opening. My boyfriend respects the young women that I am. He says it will never stop, but not just because it is a nice, cute gesture that makes his girlfriend feel all mushy-gooshy every time it happens. He says it will never stop because that is the right thing to do, that is what men should do for women.
But, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.
-Ephesians 5:33
So you’re all thinking now okay where are you going with this? I want to know why some men (I’m not placing the whole male gender under this accusation) especially the younger generations believe this is okay. I thought I wonder what the future wives of those boys today would say? Why do men not respect women the way men used to? Why is there no more opening of doors but there is derogatory name calling out the window as they drive down the street. My answer is: We Let This Happen Women. We let men believe that it’s okay not to open the door for us. We let them believe they don’t have to walk up to our door when picking us up for a date, “Hey just text me when you’re here.” We let them believe we don’t need flowers or a token of affection on our first date. We let them believe grinding in a club is true dancing. We let this happen women. I’m not saying I’m not guilty of all this as well, because believe me I am. But just stop and think about it. We let them stop doing all of this. I mean think about it if you had the choice between throwing on comfortable clothes, jumping in your car and going on a nice date OR ordering flowers, picking out really nice clothes, driving to her house, going to the front door, opening her door for her to the car, jumping out before she does to open the door again then go somewhere nice for a date. You’re obviously going to pick the easier way because that just make sense: why waste all the extra energy? We want to feel in our comfort zone we don’t want to try too hard on a first date then you look desperate.
That is when it hit me, were “lukewarm” in everything we do nowadays. No wonder why divorce is so high. We don’t want to go out of our comfort zone. Women want to be respected, as they should be. But maybe if women gave men the respect when they do go out of their comfort zone then it would change. I just pray to the Lord that we can all love and respect each other because we are all children of God.
Maybe it’s because I’m a hopeless romantic. I love love. I have dreamed about my wedding since I was 10. I pin every love quote and have my pinterest wedding all planned. I aspire to be 80 years old watching the sun set on the porch holding my husbands hand. I pray to the Lord that I can respect my husband because he is head of the wife, as Christ is the head of the church. I pray that every child of God can love each other.
Be kind and loving to each other, and forgive each other just as God forgave you in Christ.
Ephasians 4:32
Jenna June 6, 2014 (1:56 pm)
I love this!! As a stay at home mom who worries at times that I am not teaching my children that women are as valuable outside of the home as they are inside, or that I am not active enough in outside organizations…it is nice to hear another voice express that the core values can be taught over little moments at home filled with love!