I love her but I just don't like her

I have often heard this, especially through middle school and high school. I have even though it, especially during those times as well. I think it is a common phrase among siblings, nice people, and spiritual people. It is common in people who know they should care about someone, but can’t stand to be around that person. People who know they should love others, but find in their hearts only disgust.

This phrase is often extended to those that are very close to us in some way and that we can’t help being in some sort of relation with, or to those who we may be around but have no direct tie to. For instance, my sister. Throughout middle school (and even before that) I had to live with her and had to at least act the best I could that I obligatorily loved her. However, I really did not want to be around her most of that time. And even this pseudo loving but not liking only led me to love her less during those years. (Fortunately, I have learned to overcome that and move past those irrational feelings – I do truly love my sister now).

I'd say the same thought runs through the mind of countless children toward their parents – that belief that we love our parents despite the fact that we dislike everything about them. I recently had a conversation with someone who had convinced herself that she did love her parents, but when questioned more deeply about this, found that perhaps it was merely an illusory thought.

Does familial relation guarantee or presuppose love? Sort of – I believe there is an aspect of love between parent and child that is somewhat mystical and natural from birth, but that does not mean that the love is perfect – it still must be worked upon continually as in any other relationship. And you can still grow to effectively not love a parent. It seems we too often take these relationships for granted.

Or, maybe you are standing behind someone in line at the post office. The person is too skinny or too fat, makes weird noises every now and then (heavy breather or squeaky shoes). This person is a little absent minded and doesn’t move up to keep the line flowing until about 40 seconds have passed since a space opened up in front of the line (even though you know that doesn’t really help anything). Then there’s the one person actually working at the post office. This person is not going particularly slow, but definitely not fast. You know this person sees how long the line is and can imagine that there are some people who are in a real hurry. It is not that the postal worker doesn’t care about this, there is just a lack of urgency in the whole process. You can tell it is a slightly dull job and that the person is kind of being sucked into that dullness, but still that has obvious consequences for the whole process, particularly you and the others in line.

Do we love these people? I’d venture to say we most certainly don’t like them. We may have pity on them, but is that love? My point is, we think this, consciously or not, way too often. God forbid we admit that we hate that person; we know we are supposed to love others – God told us to, but what do we do with those people that disgust us, annoy us, that we just can’t bring ourselves to like?

Can we really love someone but not like them, if in fact we are loving anyone at all?

Well, I’d say first we have to realize that we are not loving those people in thinking this way (i.e. that we can't like them). How can we bring ourselves to believe that we can love someone without care, affection, or a uniting of hearts? How can we even begin to think that we are loving someone while they invoke in us emotions we don’t even necessarily feel towards those who may be the most evil people in the world?

Besides, if we don’t confront this dislike where it begins, and cover it up with the camouflage of love, surely it will soon blossom and bloom into an uncontrollable passion of hate and pride towards that person. (Lewis captures this well in The Screwtape Letters when Screwtape encourages Wormwood to "Bring fully into the consciousness of your patient that particular lift of his mother's eyebrows which he learned to dislike in the nursery, and let him think how much he dislikes it..." and that this can even be masked by empty prayers for the mother, 12-13.) 

Sure this sounds like extremes, like black and white, love or hate. But is there really any in-between here? If you are not showing someone love, what are you really doing?

We have grown to allow ourselves to too easily separate love – the type of love God tells us to exhibit, love to everyone – from any real feelings. We have developed a love that can be extended without having to get to know someone, without having to face our own sinful thoughts and behaviors and repent of them. We have found this twisted form of love that we try to extend despite the hate in our hearts toward that person.

Is this love? Is it the love God wants us to have toward others – any others? All others? Is this a love that heals wounds, bridges gaps, restores life, crowns peace, spurs hope?

Is this the love offered us?

And if this is all we can extend to those who have done nothing against us, nothing to offend us, what can we hope to extend to our enemies? What deep within our hearts is reserved for them?

So, is this possible? Can we really love? Can we really love anyone, everyone? I think it starts with grace. With repenting of our dislike and allowing God’s mercy to flow over us and prepare our hearts to love in the way He loves us. No, we cannot do it…alone. But I don’t think it is impossible. We can love, for God does not ask us to do anything we cannot do, or that he has not already done (not to mention that love is much greater than we are). Yes, it is hard and we will fail. Yes, our ‘love’ is often imperfect. But I think when we stop believing that our love must be imperfect, when we don’t let ourselves get away with that, then we will begin to find a truer, whole-er, more complete love to lavish upon even those we didn’t like – a category in our lives that will hopefully cease to exist.

A guide: 1 Corinthians 13

Two Wrongs Do Make a Right

A negative times a negative equals a positive.

I've had to teach this to the kids at the camp I have been working at all sumer long and it has brought back memories of when I learned it myself. I did not like math at all in 4^th - 6^th grade, and I was not incredibly good at it either. But I think it is reasonable to wonder why in the world a negative and a negative make a positive. Even now it is one of those things I just do without really knowing why it has to be that way.

I guess it makes sense if you act it out, though. If you walk backwards, then turn around and walk backwards again, you've really gone forwards. But going forwards, then turning around and going forwards again would give you backwards and a positive and a positive don't make a negative. On top of that one person's forwards is another person's backwards, so the direction is ultimately relative anyway. Hmm.

This whole double negative thing comes up in language too. A double negative doesn't not mean a positive. Granted, it is redundantly poor grammar, but we do use this structure of speech fairly often to drive home a point.

So, so far two wrongs are: questionably necessary, confusing, and often redundant.

But I think I finally found a way that they bring truth and beauty to our lives. And sorry to all trying to teach character values such as respect, but this does show that ultimately two wrongs do make a right (not always, but they can).

Sin + death = salvation.

The evil of our sins combined with the wrongful death of Jesus (two wrongs) combine mystically to provide for our salvation (a right if ever there was one). It may not make sense, but it is definitely necessary.

I am not approving of insulting those who insult you. But if you do, at least let that lead your mind to the one time when a wrong heaped on a whole mound of wrongs resulted in a glorious blessing. Know that God showed us that it is possible that two wrongs can't not make a right.

Throwback week continues - Speck

That's right, it's throwback week.  Monday's post was written almost exactly a year ago and today's was written almost exactly two years ago.  I guess I had a lot of good inspiration in July until this year.

I have purposefully not edited these two posts from whatever final draft I saved.  It's pretty cool to see how my thoughts have developed.  A little glimpse of the last of my teen angst in this one, maybe?

Speck – 7/14/08

Oh! This speck in my eye.

Why do you bother me so much?

Agitating, irritating my sweet soft eye -

Cutting, scratching, scarring.

But more than that -

Driving my head crazy.

At first, I cried all day, unintentionally of course,

My bed sheets were streaked with wet.

I removed my contacts,

But that just added blindness to the pain.

My finger fumbled – it is too big.

All I could accomplish was to reaffirm

The existence of that stupid speck.

Nothing in my power can fix this problem.

Maybe I should see an optometrist

In his clean white coat

And perfect rimmed glasses;

So he can over-analyze

And over-criticize

The way I’ve treated my poor red eye.

He would describe the exact nature

Of that wicked speck;

Or tell me how it is ruining my eye;

Maybe he would prescribe some

Fancy eye drops to ease the pain.

Eye drops don’t last forever, Mr. Optometrist.

And what good would eye drops do anyway,

When even tears fail me every second

(That is, when tears do come).

Oh, why won’t tears come anymore?

The salty beads used to roll down my cheeks,

But even then only smeared my print-outs

Of ‘What to do in Case of a Speck,’

And never did anything to remove it.

They are absent now.

Surely my body has some sort

Of evolutionary mechanism

That would eject this speck.

The speck is simply lodged too deep -

It has been there too long.

If only I had flushed it out at first

With some cool, refreshing water...

But wait, is it still there?

I can’t see it.

I can’t feel it.

Yes…it is just ever harder to notice.

Maybe I am getting used to it,

Or maybe it is starting to callous my eye.

Oh, how wonderful that would be,

That the pain would give way to strength.

I would have a better eye

Impervious to any nasty new speck.

However, what good is a calloused eye?

Can I even see out of it?

No - an eye is supposed to be tender and pure.

Forget you, calloused eye

And damn you speck!

You are not making me stronger at all

But rather weaker.

And more frustrated.

Oh God,

If you would just remove it!

I can’t live like this.

Give me new eyes,

Just let me start over.

A letter never sent or On Meeting a Pigeon by the Ouse River, York

7/13/2009

Hello Mr. Pigeon,

My wandering, scavenging brother.

You look nice and plump today

Strolling along the un-cobbled stones

Set crooked and jagged along the path,

Inlaid with treasures, your treats;

Little gem flakes and crusts and crumbs

Make this buffet my pathway.

What? So quickly a goodbye?

But, I just said “Hi.”

Oh, I see – off to another feed.

Always pecking, searching, eating,

Looking, finding, fighting

For that next tiny morsel.

Why so much effort?

It is just one tiny, trodden trinket

Left unaware and uncared

By some passerby.

But I know.

It’s your life

To constantly seek;

To constantly intake;

To constantly consume

Every little leftover piece,

Whatever you can get.

And to you that forsaken crumb

Is a little piece of heaven.

Something worth begging for;

Something worth fighting for.

And for you that is enough.

I bet you wouldn’t even know what to do

With a whole hamburger-

(Although I am sure you sometimes dream

About such a rich patty and crisp lettuce,

Milky cheese and juicy tomatoes).

Is it greed or need that motivates you

To peck around for that next speck?

Oh, I have been mistaken

In thinking I am so much better.

With my fine china

And clean cutlery;

With food aplenty-

Yes, even that dream food of yours!

That I lackadaisically pick around

And leave lukewarm, uneaten to throw out in the trash.

Just when I thought I was blessed

I met you.

Goodbye, Mr. Pigeon.

Let's Share A Story!

I spent this past weekend with four of my friends from my childhood though high school. We, for the most part, all went to school together (and were in classes together), were all in band together, all went through boy scouts together, and helped each other with whatever crazy idea was on the table at the time (building a hovercraft was one of my favorites).

I think it was the first time we had all been together in the past 4 or 5 years since high school. I have seen two of them frequently throughout the past several years, but had only communicated with the other two over long distances.

We all met in Beaumont, TX, which was about a 4-5 hour drive for me. On the way back, I had plenty of time to think about the weekend and the fun we had. As I drove further away from them and closer to home, my tired muscles and sleepy eyes were calling me to immediate reminiscence of all the fun we packed into two days together. We did a lot – playing games, swimming in the gulf, catching up with each other and telling each other what we have been up to through college.

While watching piney woods transform into open fields, I recalled the countless stories we have shared throughout our lives, including the new ones we just wrote this weekend.

My thoughts then turned to the future and the fact that this may have been the last time I saw all those guys for another four years. Those thoughts went a little something like this.

But then I thought about those stories. Not individually, but rather as a whole. And I thought about that huge four year gap in our shared stories. It is in no way a bad thing, but it made me wonder.

We are of course all facebook friends. And I have kept up with each of the other four through facebook pretty well (excluding one guy who has a profile but never uses it...who does that anymore?). Everyone knows that online networking is in no way a replacement for face to face human interaction, but I finally realized to the full extent why it could never be.

I can share my stories on facebook, or here, and I can read or hear stories shared with me by friends online in some form. But there is a huge difference between sharing stories and sharing life. As great as the internet is, I can never share life with anyone on it. I can talk to and see friends through modern technology and to an extent interact with them, but I can never truly share life in the way I did this weekend as I ate with, swam with, laughed with, and went to sleep and woke up with friends (I will avoid the phrase slept with although we did all crash in the same room).

As great as it is, I don't think the new iphone can even truly enable a sharing of life.

I realize that I can't share life with everyone all the time, but when given the option I would much rather share life with someone than merely share stories. Besides, while sharing life you make stories, and as fun as sharing stories is, making them is infinitely better.

When a Tree Leaves

This is possibly the saddest thing I have heard in a while.

In Nevada, in 1964, a graduate student named Don Currey went out into a forest of bristlecone pines to do some research on climate change. He found some super old trees and tried to drill into the core of one (to take a core sample), but it began to be more difficult and finally the drill broke. The forest service came in and cut down the tree (which was called the Prometheus Tree) for him so that he could study the tree rings. He took some slabs back to his lab and started counting the rings.

He eventually made it to 4844 rings, making the tree 4844 years old. The oldest tree. The oldest continuously living organism on the planet. And it was killed in 1964.

I heard about this on a podcast last weekend and was really struck with how sad it is. I realize it was an accident and they would have never done it if they had known, so I am not upset, but it is still sad.

If you want to hear the whole story:

http://blogs.wnyc.org/radiolab/2010/06/28/oops/ - about 15 minutes in

http://www.terrain.org/essays/14/cohen.htm

So...

"...What do you do? You laugh. I'm not saying I don't cry but in between I laugh and I realize how silly it is to take anything too seriously. Plus, I look forward to a good cry. It feels pretty good."
-Sam (played by Natalie Portman, Garden State)

Maybe we can cry or laugh and breath a little more life for the other trees around us.  Or just enjoy the countless other trees brought to life through the seeds of that tree.

Nothing lasts forever, except God.  Maybe this provides a good place to really think about that.

1 Timothy 6:13-16
In the sight of God, who gives life to everything, and of Christ Jesus, who while testifying before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, I charge you to keep this command without spot or blame until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ, which God will bring about in this own time - God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings, and Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor and might forever. Amen.

Ending on a Good Note

I went to hit some golf balls last weekend with my dad. At the end of these outings we always practice putting, which eventually turns into a putting contest between us. My dad always wins (although I am getting much closer). This time, on the last hole, I completely botched my shots and just did not do well at all. So, my dad made us do one more hole on the reasoning that you should not end on a bad note.

I have also been reading through the minor prophets of the Old Testament and have been struck with one repeating feature. To start, they are typically very negative. The prophet is laying it on the Israelites (or other nations); 'it' being how mad God is at them and all the terrible stuff He is going to do. We get a very detailed account of all the ways they have sinned and rebelled against their God. But then at the end, almost as an afterthought, the prophet adds how God will restore Israel (For example: In the 9 chapters of Amos, only the last 5 verses are positive), that the sin leading to punishment is not the end, that despite all the bad stuff going on, the real end will be a good note.

I guess God doesn't even like ending on a bad note.

This pattern can also be found in many psalms. The psalmist may be crying out to God verse upon verse, lamenting the sufferings of his life and the absence of God, but as he nears the end of his prayerful song, he begins to turn to God's goodness and the hope of restoration.

I wonder why this is. No matter how bad we are doing at something, whether that is golf (or any sport), musical performance, life, etc. why must we end on a good note?

I asked my dad this after our putting game, and I think it took him a little by surprise. And the more I think about it the more unnatural questioning this phenomenon seems to be. Why wouldn't you want to end on a good note? But he basically told me that it's good for morale, especially when that last shot is the one you are most likely going to be thinking about all the way up to the next time you hit a ball.

Cognitive psychology does show that you remember the first and last items of a sequence the best - like an inverse bell curve:

They call this the serial position effect – the culmination of primacy and recency effects. The experiments are usually memory recall tests (i.e. having subjects try to memorize a list of words and then waiting a few minutes before writing down the ones they remember – people generally remember the first couple of words and the last couple the best), but I guess you could loosely extrapolate those findings to something like a practice round of golf. Maybe that last shot really does stick with you more than all the other crappy ones you hit.

But I think ending on a good note arises out of something deeper than a desire to boost our morale. It surpasses any attempt to cognitively trick ourselves into believing things are better than they are.

We know that things are better than they sometimes seem to be. Or at least that they will be better.  We know that there is something better in us or around us that we can connect with.

And I'd say that that seeming afterthought in the minor prophets is not an afterthought at all. Instead, it is the central element of the prophet's message. The culmination of the prophet's entreaty is that hope of restoration. The prophets know that the end will be a good note – or rather a chord of faith, hope, and love that is pleasing to both God and man. It is hard to imagine the dissonance resolving, but the prophets and the psalmists have left their reminders that it will happen. Good will win out in the end.

God not only wants us to end on a good note, He is in fact that very good note, present at the beginning and the end and beyond each.