Jesus loves me, but does he like me?

Ah, love. We find so, so many ways to confuse ourselves about this vital topic.

We devour sappy, lyrically suspect songs about love. 

We (the royal we, the editorial 'we') purchase loads of fiction stories of love lost and regained. We watch shows with such titles as 'Love Island' or 'the Bachelorette', even though we know the premise has little to do with actual love.

(when I said 'we' watch such shows, I definitely meant more 'you' than 'me).

Still for some of us, 'love' has infuriatingly, maddeningly, wrongly been the premise for some sort of unloving-type control or mis-use of us. Many of us, quite reasonably, have discerned that someone can love us, but not particularly like us. Some of our parents have loved us in ways we feel loved ... and also that we're an annoyance, a burden. Love has been made to feel like some obligation we're owed, but don't really want. "Who needs enemies when you have friends like this?"

So, when we hear that God is love ... that God 'loves' you, and 'loves' me ... we can (understandably) react with wary confusion. 

"So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him." -1 John 4:16

What is that sort of love from God? Is it the sort of love that includes some side orders of anxiety, control, hectoring, manipulation? Is this is a love that gives the silent treatment if I say the wrong thing the wrong way, or don't text back in a reasonable amount of time?

Thankfully, no.

There's a sort of love that delights with someone or something just because it is. Just because it exists. There's a sort of love that because it loves, it also likes/delights in/finds funny/genuinely enjoys/appreciates being around.

You're not a rehab project to our Lord. You're not an investment of under-realized gains. He's not tapping his foot impatiently. He doesn't get mad when you spill the cup of water on the dinner table. When we look at our lives and see scattered debris of minimal progress here and there, we can't presume that Jesus sees us this way too.

"The Lord is merciful and gracious."

a la carté kills

How I learned a valuable lesson about self-respect, dating, and relationships.

When I was in college (or shortly thereafter), this girl and I developed a friendship that, through time and conversations, became more. Talking with her on the phone once or twice a week morphed into talking on the phone every single night (this was before text messaging was a thing).

Texting on these phones took commitment.

 

We lived in different cities, but within easy driving distance. We'd confide about our life hopes, dreams, funny stories, day-to-day details, worries. We'd known each other for years, knew we had similar values and beliefs. We became each others closest emotional supports. 

 

It didn't take much for my heart to want more. She told me I was the best, someone she could trust ... someone she loved. "Wow," I thought. "This seems so good!"

 

And it was so good ... save for one detail.

She had a boyfriend. 

Of him she didn't speak much. 

 

What she did share with me: she knew they could never work out long-term. He wasn't much for meaningful conversation. He wasn't what she sought for her future. How she had all this time to talk with me while dating someone else, I couldn't figure. This unspoken question rattled around my skull: "then whyyyyy are you still with him?"

 

In my uncertainty, I never asked this question. I reasoned that if I showed myself to be an obvious step up, that she'd ditch her boyfriend.  Then, we could continue what we'd started.

 

So I kept on, with allowing myself to grow closer. Talking, sharing life, sharing laughs, sharing dreams. We poured more of our hearts out onto one another. I did my best to ignore the pesky "one detail" (that annoyingly remained a detail). Sooner ... or later, I reasoned, she'd end it with him if I kept giving pieces of my time, energy, my heart. 

How could I have believed this would work? I don't think hindsight is always 20/20 ... but hindsight can offer clarity and perspective.

Thank God for friends who love us enough to tell us the truth. 

 

Thank God for friends who love us enough to say hard truths we must hear. 

 

My best friend Matt's wife was (and is) wise beyond her years. In talking with them about this conundrum, and my hopes for how this would work out, she leveled me with a perspective I hadn't yet heard.

"You are a la carté-ing yourself," she told me. "You should not do this. You're gonna get hurt."

"A la carté-ing ... myself?? What does that mean?" I knew what 'a la carté' meant: it's a term often used at restaurants. It refers to a menu or list of items that can be ordered separately, rather than altogether. I hadn't yet heard it about dating, or relationships.

 

"Here's what I mean," she replied. "Right now, you're offering pieces of yourself, in hopes that she'll end up wanting more. But that's not how it should be. God made us to be loved completely, not piecemeal. None of us as whole people are ever too much for one person. Someone should either get all of you, or none of you. That's self-respect. As it stands, she's got you for emotional support and camaraderie, but then there's this boyfriend who's somehow still in the picture. Why would she commit to wanting all of you, and ditching this other dude, if you're offering just parts of you? Don't devalue yourself, do not a la carté yourself. Connection without commitment is not stable, and you're gonna get hurt."

This perspective changed my life, y'all. I'd never heard this from the vantage point of standing up for myself and my worth in an appropriate, respectful, and resolute manner.

It's been more than two decades since I heard this. I share this wisdom a few times a year with people in similar scenarios, and it's absolutely right. If it's true for me, it's gotta be true for you as well.

Don't offer a la carté versions of yourself when it comes to dating relationships.

You're worth way more than that.