When Real Love Is Too Damn Hard

A Mile in Worn-out Moccasins

Love is so not easy. Some days, it’s like wearing stiff moccasins that leave blisters and smell bad. I’m called to live according to the command to love God and neighbor, but I am a miserable failure a lot of the time. Inside my oh-so-superior mind, I pronounce judgments all damn day.

I tend to think of my loved ones as giant heaps of irritation when they do or don’t do according to the gospel of Linda. I rationalize these nits as making my day harder, forcing me to take the long way as they complicate my already hectic life. The crumbs on the counter, the big breakfast I’m now cooking every day, the way my dear husband sneaks smokes out in the garage. All these things rankle my otherwise sunny temperament. How can the people I live with be so inconsiderate?

I stew about these things until I remember that only weeks ago, I hoped my husband would once again leave crumbs. That he’d eat something, anything. That he’d be happy again. I’m not sure it’s me that’s doing the remembering—maybe that mysterious Holy Ghost is nudging the halo off my head.

I should listen to that nudge more often.

Some say I am entitled to be upset—I have so much on my plate, after all. Grown children with substance and mental health issues, a husband with poor health, me trying to do it all with a bum shoulder. But I don’t want to claim this plate without also acknowledging that I brought the plate to the table. Maybe the source of my discontent isn’t them.

It’s me.

Eleanor Roosevelt said that no one can make you unhappy without your consent. And others harumph and say I shouldn’t accept any and all behaviors. So how do we love?

Christians like to say, “hate the sin, love the sinner.” But human nature being what it is, it’s hard to separate the two. Most of us—okay I—tend to want to stone the sinner and the sin. Those who still advocate tough love often find themselves unable to hate addiction and love their person too.

Yet there is a way, but it has nothing to do with our loved ones and everything to do with ourselves.

Father Richard Rohr says, “When we are no longer able to change a situation . . . we are challenged to change ourselves.” How? First by examining our values. What things do I value most in my life? A peaceful home? A calm and positive environment? Or constant nagging, kvetching and yelling?

But I feel so wronged, so put-upon. Okay. Who accepted all the things I do every day? I did. I haven’t set a boundary that says, “I don’t have the bandwidth” to do this or that. To say no.

Because I tend to be a rescuer, I often feel like the world will stop turning if I don’t help. God says if I do anything for anybody, it should be because I love, not because I have to be a hero.

To be a slightly less miserable failure at loving, I first must be open to changing myself. I admit that all my rescuing is no longer working. I stop and see how capable my loved ones really are. And to stop my martyrdom, I need to ask myself if my next action is going to empower others or just put another diamond in my crown.

Next, I get to ask myself if I can do for others without resentment. If I can’t it’s not real love.  And yet sometimes that same nosy Holy Spirit whispers, “Do good just because.” So I have to pack a bag and walk toward real love. See? God is changing me without my express permission.

Because of that change, at every opportunity to serve I picture Jesus—tired, dusty, hungry at the end of a long day. Someone lowers yet another cripple through the roof. I wonder if he ever turned anyone away, saying come back tomorrow. Something tells me that if Jesus ever told someone to take a number, it was very rare.

So even when I’m feeling the weight upon my shoulders, I realize that I’m being carried by love—love for sons with problems, a husband with overwhelming health issues, love even for a slightly older woman named Linda with arm insufficiencies. The God who was willing to wash my feet is the same God who cheers me on when I love and sends that dang Holy Spirit when I slip and fall.

Love is so not easy. In fact, love is really dangerous. It requires an open heart that can be hurt, again and again. Yikes. Still, my loved ones need the best love I can offer, even if I faceplant now and then.

My world is a tiny microcosm of the love God wishes for all of us. To see God and each other as the embodiment of compassionate care. To walk humbly, seek justice and love mercy can only bring us together. Even for those who have terrible habits that I clean up after.

Love is the longest journey we’ll ever make. I’m nowhere close to perfect, but when I get out of my skin and walk in another’s moccasins, love bubbles up from the deep end of my heart.