Love Me, Love Me Not

Some people might label it eavesdropping. I prefer to call it "listening" and I count it (modestly) in my (modest) array of skills. I can stand in a room full of people, pick out a person I'd like to listen to, and tune into their conversation. Everything else in the room dims into background noise, and I can usually follow every word of any conversation I prefer. This is a very dangerous skill to have, for reasons you might prefer not to know.

It didn't take much of my skill to catch part of the discussion flying around my table at a recent potluck. I even shouldered my share of the conversational burden. But at some point I rather suspect my listening radar took off on some tangent and when I came back to my own particular conversation I heard a friend describing the following excerpt from a movie she'd watched:

Character 1: "I love you."

Character 2: "Love me? How can you? I do so many bad things. I don't think anyone should love me."

Character 1: "You don't understand. I love you. And when I choose to love someone, I don't get the option of loving them in pieces. I love you. Or I don't."

This conversation took place a week and a half ago. I've been ruminating on it on and off ever since. I've reflected that this--the love described--is the love God has.

You might take me by way of example. He could have broken me in pieces, seen how my unloveliness overwhelms me at every turn, and decided I wasn't worth the trouble and discomfort. Loving me, after all, means loving someone with acne and jagged toenails. It means loving someone who rarely gets anything done without a to-do list and a deadline and experiences a high frequency of burnt toast. It means loving someone who snaps at her brothers and sister when irritated and whines and complains when asked to do a task she doesn't prefer. It means, worst for Him, loving someone who once hated Him and who now goes through long periods of time where making herself talk to Him is a chore.

His eyes are wide open. He knows all this. And, with a typical, human, piecemeal love, He could have decided, rightfully, that loving me was too thankless a task.

But He didn't.

His love doesn't compartmentalize.

And I think I have an excuse for feeling uncomfortable when I see a beggar on the corner? Grumbling at the guy who cuts me off in traffic? Yes, and snapping when irritated, whining when inconvenienced, and dragging my feet to my prayer closet?

I have not yet learned to love.