On Loving People

I've come across a few instances in my blogging life where people choose to go into the "witness relocation program", pack up their virtual online life, and start all over again somewhere else under an assumed identity. Either that, or just sort of vanish. Its not difficult to understand. Talk about a platform for worldwide misinterpretation and vulnerability- providing an oppurtunity for every tom, dick and harry to tell you what your problem is and why you should take it elsewhere.

But there's more than one parallel to "real life". Who doesn't hide behind something? Who isn't afraid on some level of people's judgements, hatred, misunderstanding?

Life as a human is chock full of relationships. And it doesn't take any amount of insight to know that loving people is a quagmire of complications, subject to perspective bound interpretations.

Which brings me to God, and love, and authenticity. The more you allow life to grow you, the more people you love. The more people you allow into your heart, the more your heart expands to allow for the numbers. The more people taking up your heart space, the more you realize how much pain, ugliness, disappointment, and sorrow there is in this life. The more you recognize its existance, the more you want to be useful in some capacity, to ease the pain, to be part of a solution, but ironically, you simultaneously realize that you can "help" no one, that you are utterly bound in your own selfishness and stunted desires and distracting mind games.

Which brings me back to God. And back to the question about how do we people want to live these lives we've been given? I've got to say, that for myself, despite the pain and sense of powerlessness, I wouldn't have it any other way- at least when I think of the richness brought about through human relationships. What wealth we share in terms of beauty in a whole bunch of broken people desiring to give one another a hand up and a shoulder to cry on, and some stuff to laugh about- Together. It provides a sense that God is very creative and makes all sorts of different people for all sorts of different reasons.

On Sunday at church, I listened to a fitting teaching about God and His sense of direction. How the Spirit of Jesus speaks in ways we can each hear. Through the boredom, the monotony, the looooooong stretches of life where no miracles or "breakthroughs" occur in your life. Where you are angry, disillusioned, mad at God, not sure any more why you are compelled to follow that "still, small voice" since it doesn't seem to be taking you into any euphoric mountaintop places or even into a place of endless patience with your spouse and children. But I got a picture of prayer moving things in the spiritual that goes beyond my sense of immediacy and my desired results. I saw a picture of us all being interlocked in varying and creative ways. That a loving heart- a heart that loves God, hurts when others hurt. Cries when others cry. Lends a hand.

How does this relate to the witness protection program? Here's how I see it. We ought not be too quick to judge others, or to offer them really valuable advice, unless it compells relentlessly from that place deep inside. People's pain won't disappear because of a seven point address on why they are hurting, what they did wrong to get hurt in the first place, and how to turn into a better person so that they don't keep getting hurt. I think our good intentions to make people feel better often drives them away. Sends them into hiding. Then we can pretend that they are not hurting anymore, because we don't have to listen to it any more. i think that a more accurate truth is that we are all mixed up all the time. We all struggle with something. We all stumble over some repetitive theme til we want to scream and run for the hills.

And we all have the capacity to listen. To tune into how to love one another. It's bound to be flawed. Its bound to be painful.

But would you really have it any other way?

Oh, Brother

Sam has not had many "real" haircuts in his short lifetime. Usually, I notice him peering out from underneath a mass of blonde bangs, stick him in front of the tv , and hack away at his hair until his eyes become visible once again. Today, however, I had time to stop in at the local hairdressing shop and book him in for a haircut that doesn't look like he's been put under the lawn mower. It became immediately apparent that Sam equated the hairddresser's chair with the dentist and the medical laboratory. He cried and cried and tried to curl up into a ball to escape the scissors and electric razor. We pulled our best tricks out of our bags- me, the victem hair-cutter, and the stylist behind her. We chatted about the interesting figures on his plastic cape, the candy we would feed him if he sat nicely, and the little children across the street on thier way to the park. Outside, his big brother zoomed left and right past the window wearing his ski mask against the November chill; reaching new speeds on the scooter thanks to the accelerating effects of the wheelchair ramp. Even our efforts to point out his favourite big brother's antics refused to stop Sam's river of tears.

Finally the hair was cut. I made my rounds apologizing to all the customers who"d had to put up with the wailing and drama, and made my way to jackets and home. By this point, big brother Micah had come into the shop and was guiding Sammy's hand to turn the wheel of the tantalizing candy dispenser that mommy always refused to feed quarters into.

Micah had observed that his brother was not exactly getting the whole "spa thing". That all Micah's efforts to distract him with speedy scooter-ing had been in vain. So, he'd raced home, gone upstairs to get into his allowance stash for some quarters, then speeded back to the salon on his bicycle. He'd been sure to hurry so as to get back in time to reward his little brother for surviving the haircut. Sammy quickly changed his tune, stuffing yellow and green peanut M&M's into his mouth, and with a friendly "Whaddya say?" from Micah, even remembered to shout a grateful "Thank you!"

I'm sure Sammy thinks of his big brother as a bit of a hero, but I think it will be many years before he remembers and becomes fullly aware of just what a hero his brother really is.

And I've got to say, I'm feeling a little starry-eyed myself.