Love Like You've Never Been Hurt

Saw this sign in a store this weekend and it made me stop to consider whether or not I did these things, or even agreed with them.  After some pondering I realized, with some interest, that the only one I had trouble embracing entirely was "Love like you have never been hurt."

It's not that I disagree exactly.  This sounds like a good philosophy, and fits well in this list of positive life-affirmations.  But I'm just not sure any of us can actually do this.

I'm not sure it's possible to love like you've never been hurt.  Is it?  Don't we all carry with us some of the leftover woundings from hurts within each relationship itself, and baggage from stuff that happened in other relationships? 

Isn't each love more of a mixture of sweet and sour that ends up being good and honest and true because we've lived through the hurts and are brave enough to keep loving and/or love again?  Maybe the hurts make us wiser lovers.  Maybe loving like you've been hurt is a deeper love.

Maybe that's what the sign is trying to say.  And if so, then, yes, I'm all for it.  I would say, right or wrong, that I don't love with the same quick, reckless abandon that I used to when I was oh so much younger than I am now, before I was hurt.  But I find that my experience of love is grittier, fiercer, less selfish now, in my post-hurt love life.  It's more chosen, more deliberate, more secure.

It's a crazy thing we do, giving our hearts away to imperfect others, while at the same time holding in our imperfect hands the hearts of beloveds we would never want to wound.   Risky business, this loving thing.

But never mind.  No one's watching or listening, the possibilities are endless, there's a little of heaven here on earth, there really are no winners, and plenty of family and friends.  So, according to the sign, and because of the great blessings of our lives, we apparently have lots of joy to do. 

The Flip Side of Sabbath

Sunday afternoons are the best.

It starts the moment I come down off the platform at the end of the sermon, sit down, turn up my hands, close my eyes and let it go.  All the work of this past week, culminating in the delivery of what I can only hope were pleasing and acceptable meditations and words, is released into the care of the Holy Spirit for Him to do with as He pleases.  Me?  I'm done. 

I'll connect with as many people as I can after the service, pray with some when needed, encourage and be encouraged, bless and be blessed.  Then it's home for lunch with Ken.  And then...the nap.

And so begins my time of spiritual restoration, from Sunday at noon until Tuesday morning, when I arrive again at the office to begin a brand new week.

Work and rest, in the rhythmic breathing of life.

A lot has been written about Sabbath lately, and a call to reclaim the essential rest God ordained for human souls.  I've needed to reclaim this for myself, unlearning patterns of drivenness and workaholism as I go.

But today my reading in Proverbs turned my thoughts to the flip side of Sabbath, and the idea that work itself is also a gift from God,

"The sluggard craves and gets nothing, 

but the desires of the diligent are fully satisfied."  

Proverbs 13:4 NIV

If I think about it, there two key points in any given week for me, and they are anchored in this work/rest balance.  One is that moment of letting go just as the sermon is done.  And the other is that moment when I turn the key in my office door and open up to the start of a fresh cycle of meaningful work.

What a gift to be able to expend my energies in meaningful labour.  To press through the challenges, put my shoulder to the wheel, and diligently carry out my responsibilities.  True enough there will be bad days.  But the overwhelming experience of my work is one I find fully and abundantly satisfying.

By the time I get to the end of the service, at the end of a well-spent week, I will welcome the Sabbath.  But I find I can't have one without the other.  I won't release into my time of renewal with any joy unless I have given my all to the work.  And I can't give my all to the work, and it would soon become a joyless experience, without the release of renewal.

Sunday afternoons are the best.  But so are Tuesday mornings.  Two bests.

Grateful for the wisdom of a loving Father who knows the cravings of the human soul, and the holy ways that fully satisfy His children.

Calendar Calm

There's something about September that requires a fresh new calendar.  And there's something about a fresh new calendar that makes me very, very happy.

I mean, just look at all those clear open spaces, smiling and ready to receive the appointments, due dates and events that make life rich and meaningful.  Neat squares, systematically lined up, mapping out all the possibilities of a brand new season.  Clarity, order, purpose.  What's there not to love?

In fact, I love calendars so much that my husband used to claim that if I saw an open day with nothing written on it, my hand would shake until I could find something to add.

Never mind that he's like that with clean open spaces in our house.  And never mind that I wouldn't ever write something on the calendar with a shaky hand and risk making it look messy!  I mean, really!

Still, upon honest reflection of calendars gone by, he was right on.  But it wasn't about an obsession with calendars, actually.  It was about an obsession with 'doing'.  It was about finding it hard to say 'no'.  About workaholism and insecurities and lack of self-control.  And lack of self.

Having a lot on the calendar had a way of making me feel important and needed.  True thing.  Without ever having thought it through, in my gut I believed that only selfish, lazy losers had 'empty' calendars.  'Empty' being a relative term.

That was a while, and a few hard lessons ago, however.  These days my calendar is calmer.  There are open spaces....on purpose!  Yes!  I'll show them to you if you like.  Mondays are my Sabbath when I rest and play and be quiet with God in longer, unhurried ways.  Thursdays have recently become my 'no meeting' days when I can dig down into the part of my job that requires quiet concentration and deeper reflection.  For the most part, evenings are left untouched to allow for the simplicity of just being at home with my husband. 

Psalm 90:12 says, "Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom."

The bigger context of the psalm speaks, in part, about understanding God as being where you live.  Our dwelling place.  I don't think there were wall calendars around back then, but the overall concept is the same.  And as someone who needs all the wisdom she can get, I welcome God's continued teaching on this, particularly as I am increasingly experiencing a deeper calm the more I give myself the time to be 'home' in Him.

It's the beginning of September, so my calendars look pretty sweet right now.  Yes, predictably, the unexpected will arrive and mess up all the well laid out plans to varying degrees throughout the season to come.  All the more reason to have the calm, empty spaces marked off, both to be the buffer, and to provide the stored-up reserves to face the challenges with more serenity.

Now, if we can just get the basement cleaned out.   I think I'll go put that on the calendar.