I mentioned quite a while back that I've been thinking about love a lot recently, and one of the "minor epiphanies" continues to stick with me. I'm almost embarrassed to admit some of my thick-headedness, but, well, this is who I am. :)
For the majority of my first thirty years of life, I have not been able to shake the notion that love is a feeling. Sure, I know all (some of) the Bible verses about active and sacrificial love. Yes, I was a part of the group in college that got really into taking the "5 Love Languages" test. Even in the past five years as I've begun to think in terms of "covenant," I've somehow managed to separate the two (love and covenant) in my mind. ("Covenant" therefore meaning something like, "I won't leave even if I don't feel like I love you anymore," or something like that. )
Anyway, as such, I've always relegated 1 Corinthians 13 -- you know, the "love chapter" -- to biblical fluff. The sappy stuff that gets read at weddings. (I had it sung at my first wedding, but only because it was a beautiful tenor solo.) It never seemed to be, well, true. I read, "love is patient," and I heard, "love feels patient," and I knew that was impossible. So the whole thing must be impossible. It sounds nice, and it's great to try once and a while, and it makes for a nice romantic wedding reading, but it's just not practical.
And then I reached chapter three of Ginger Plowman's Don't Make Me Count To Three. She gives a little imaginary example of a conversation she might have with her two children when one of them attempts to take a toy from the other:
"Do you think that it would be kind or rude for you to try to take away something that he is enjoying?"
"Rude."
"That's right, Alex, and love is not rude. When Wesley is through with it and puts it down, then you may ask for it."
Like I said, I'm embarrassed to admit this, but that blew me away. She is actually using the sappy stuff about love to govern the relationship between her children. I read it months ago, and I still can't stop marveling over it. Jesus' command was so clear: love one another. And this is what he meant. It's not sappy; it's a list of standards! (There's a first-born child in me rejoicing in more rules to follow.)
Remember my big empty blue wall that needs to be decorated? I've fantasized about putting 1 Corinthians 13 on it, as big as I can get it, to have it right there in my living room for constant reference in all of the interpersonal relationships that exist in this house. The only thing stopping me (other than the exorbitant cost of giant prints, and my fears of it being sloppy if I dared to hand-write it myself) is that nagging thought that people coming into my house would think I'm sappy. (God forbid, right?)
But this isn't sappy. (I've used that word so many times now that I'm not even sure what I mean by it anymore.) It's real, practical, in-the-moment instruction to keep our relationships God-honoring. Silly as it sounds, that's mind-boggling to me.
(Also, I can't stop singing the Harrow family song I taught my kids' choir a few years ago, from 2 Timothy 3:16: All Scripture is inspired by God, and profitable for teaching and rebuke . . . )
For the majority of my first thirty years of life, I have not been able to shake the notion that love is a feeling. Sure, I know all (some of) the Bible verses about active and sacrificial love. Yes, I was a part of the group in college that got really into taking the "5 Love Languages" test. Even in the past five years as I've begun to think in terms of "covenant," I've somehow managed to separate the two (love and covenant) in my mind. ("Covenant" therefore meaning something like, "I won't leave even if I don't feel like I love you anymore," or something like that. )
Anyway, as such, I've always relegated 1 Corinthians 13 -- you know, the "love chapter" -- to biblical fluff. The sappy stuff that gets read at weddings. (I had it sung at my first wedding, but only because it was a beautiful tenor solo.) It never seemed to be, well, true. I read, "love is patient," and I heard, "love feels patient," and I knew that was impossible. So the whole thing must be impossible. It sounds nice, and it's great to try once and a while, and it makes for a nice romantic wedding reading, but it's just not practical.
And then I reached chapter three of Ginger Plowman's Don't Make Me Count To Three. She gives a little imaginary example of a conversation she might have with her two children when one of them attempts to take a toy from the other:
"Do you think that it would be kind or rude for you to try to take away something that he is enjoying?"
"Rude."
"That's right, Alex, and love is not rude. When Wesley is through with it and puts it down, then you may ask for it."
Like I said, I'm embarrassed to admit this, but that blew me away. She is actually using the sappy stuff about love to govern the relationship between her children. I read it months ago, and I still can't stop marveling over it. Jesus' command was so clear: love one another. And this is what he meant. It's not sappy; it's a list of standards! (There's a first-born child in me rejoicing in more rules to follow.)
Remember my big empty blue wall that needs to be decorated? I've fantasized about putting 1 Corinthians 13 on it, as big as I can get it, to have it right there in my living room for constant reference in all of the interpersonal relationships that exist in this house. The only thing stopping me (other than the exorbitant cost of giant prints, and my fears of it being sloppy if I dared to hand-write it myself) is that nagging thought that people coming into my house would think I'm sappy. (God forbid, right?)
But this isn't sappy. (I've used that word so many times now that I'm not even sure what I mean by it anymore.) It's real, practical, in-the-moment instruction to keep our relationships God-honoring. Silly as it sounds, that's mind-boggling to me.
(Also, I can't stop singing the Harrow family song I taught my kids' choir a few years ago, from 2 Timothy 3:16: All Scripture is inspired by God, and profitable for teaching and rebuke . . . )
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