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{ June 15, '98 }
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Love, the potted plant.
Amore, amor, love.
What a four-letter word! I blanch at the thought of discussing love. I have very strong feelings about it (naturally), but lack the skill to express them coherently. Unlike sex, it is not a popular subject of analysis. I am appalled at the way post-modern society has short-changed us of love, one of the needs of every human soul.
The first thing a human baby feels after being born (and being smacked in the rump) is love; hopefully. This being may then be fed, changed, disciplined, educated, indulged, and shaped in every concievable way, material, emotional and spiritual; if love is missing--a deep chasm is formed in his or her soul. Love is a need. Kids whose family, especially father figures, don't communicate love, often decide to become workaholics, delinquents, insecure, egotistical, negative, sexually active earlier, unfaithful, sexually deviant, in a word: incomplete.
Incomplete. I need to be better than _____. I need _____ to be happy. If only I had ______. Its all because of what ______ did to me when I was small. I'm a victim. It's not my fault. Its in my genes. I can't help it. I'm only human!
Love is, excuse the term, a miracle. Love makes the difference between a slave and a volunteer. It is the only thing that can hope to fill the chasm in our soul, and overlow with happiness, unfake, something usually unheard of. No number of video games, computers, clothes, TVs, houses, jobs, money, country clubs, friends, relationships, psychiatrists can fill the vacuum the absence of love leaves in a soul. Love is the fuel of happiness. Our engines refuse to run on anything else.
Love is not only sexual attraction. It is more. In a relationship, love is like a room with plants. Imagine a living room with fresh flowers on the coffee table. In a few days they droop, turn black and die. Someone should send a new bouquet. But in this room are also potted plants. Close to a window, they are watered every day. They grow slowly, and are beautiful. Occasionally they bloom. They last a long time. Sexual attraction is like the flowers. It's GREAT. Its colorful, passionate, eye-catching, and temporary. It has a function. It is good, but there's more. Real love is like the potted plant. It's subtle, growing slowly. It requires commitment and discipline. It's worth the effort. It can last forever.
It is strange that among all adjectives to describe God, John should choose to say that God is love. God is called a warrior,
holy,
pure,
mighty in power, why would he choose to be called
Father?
Love your neighbor as you love your self.
Love sacrificially, he tells us. Jesus asks Peter, "
do you love me?" Faith and hope will pass away, but
love will never pass away.
Forget the words. Hear this meaning: God wants to have a love relationship with all of us; with me, with you. Are we brave enough to risk it? He assures us our emotional living room will have fresh flowers occasionaly, but always, green potted plants.
Return to the Green Room, or to
Day by Day.
email me at aeortiz@iname.com.