A Love That Does Not Go Away
Like that of of Lebanese mother.
I am the only son of a Lebanese mother. If you envision the stereotypical Jewish, Greek, or Italian mothers we find in books and movies you have a start of the kind of ever present, continually considering, even restless kind of love I grew up with.
So basked in love was I as a child that I suffered significant cognitive dissonance as a young adult, when, for the first time in my life, relational presence, consideration, and continuity seemed more transactional if present at all. I found few people who could be counted on to be there, considerate, and continually disposed in the way that my mom had trained me to be able to receive.
This was a hard reality to deal with. I’m an only child. Not only do I enjoy the company of people, I find myself having a striking need of others. Not in the, “I can’t spend time alone,” way – I’m quite fine with that. Rather my need of others comes from a realistic view of my own finite nature. There is only so much I can do, know, or even be, on my own. No, I need people for the journey – because that’s the way the journey happens – with people.
You just never know who the people in your life are going to be. That is unless you have people who make it a point to prioritize their relationship with you. Not just in a general sense, but in a personal one. The other folks that come in and out of our lives just won’t have the same thing about them. They may love us, show up for us, care for us, but that other thing…that thing that makes a relationship sticky…that won’t be there.
Individualists don’t like sticky relationships, or so I’m told. We want individual freedom – to do whatever we want. In back of that sentiment seems to be the idea that we want to do what we want without it affecting anyone else. That way I don’t have to deal with the consequences of my choices as I see them in the reactions of others. But that’s not how love works.
Love has concern. Concern for the good. Concern for your good, and the good of others. And so someone who loves you will want to be sure that the choices you make are good for you. They will want to be sure that the choices they make will be good for you.
This brings another question to light. How can someone know what’s good for you?
With the realities of narcissism, projection, and a host of other relational pathologies, it’s a wonder anyone is able to get close enough to someone else to know. And yet that is precisely what it takes to know what is good for someone. We have to get close.
In Friendship
I have a semi-standing monthly dinner with a group of friends. It is a casual situation that keeps us connected. We eat out so no one is saddled with the work of preparing food or cleaning up. We share what the past month has been like – highlights, challenges, quirks, and wonders. Following one such dinner one of my friends called me. They said, “Hey, we should go to lunch, how about this week?” Though in the middle of a crazy work week, I said, “Yes.”
They had noticed that I was a little off during our dinner and made the time to draw me out and ask questions. “You seemed not quite yourself at dinner…is there something going on?” Our lunch wasn’t long, but we went deep. My friend asked thoughtful questions, helped me find language for some of what was putting me off center, and we both ended up getting emotional. I felt seen, heard, and cared for – and I didn’t do anything to get that. It was the gift of love from a friend who was there, saw me, and reached out.
The Gift
In the wake of my father’s passing, many people reached out. I was flooded with expressions of concern and consideration. In one of the harder moments of my life, it was a lovely feeling to know that so many people cared for me. Knowing what to do for someone who is grieving is challenging, so most of my friends closed their messages with something like, “If there is anything we can do for you let me know.”
This can be taken a few ways – love laying in wait, at the ready, or an expression of willingness, openness to be a part of the process. It can also be taken as an abdication of responsibility. This sounds harsh, but give me a moment to work this out.
In the case of grief or sickness or pain, the person hurting likely has their hands full. Identifying and articulating a particular need, and finding the friend most likely to be able to fulfill that need, is lower on the list than dealing with what is right in front of them. In this case, who then has the greater capacity for observation and action?
The one who acts is the one who gives the gift. They are the ones who step out of their normal programming for the sake of the other. They are the ones that love.
A Way
Not sure how to give such a gift? It’s not easy, especially in times of severe stress. Here is something that has helped me. Pause, take the time to bear witness, consider what you see, ask a few questions, then try something small – a message, a card, a phone call, or taking on a simple task.
The Pause – This interrupts whatever habit we have – whether we like to jump in and takeover, too soon or quickly, or would rather withdraw, being too slow to act.
Bearing Witness – This requires being present, showing up, and just observing. Here we let the person going through it just be, but we are there with them. We witness their state. Our presence honors the reality of the situation.
Ask a few questions – This helps us learn how we, by being curious, can unveil unseen realities. “What have the hardest parts of this been?” “Where does it hurt most?” “What have been some moments of relief?” These are all good questions, and unveil part of the reality that can otherwise remain hidden.
Starting with something small – This is a great way of building a habit. We shouldn’t have an expectation of ourselves to be effectual or competent in challenging situations without some kind of practice. If we end up effectual or competent without practice that is a miracle. The more common path begins with small things, and with action that slowly grows into familiarity, competence, confidence, and the ability to effect situations for the good on a regular and natural basis.
This simple process can be applied to any situation, and itself can become habitual. Something happens – pause, bear witness, ask a few questions, and start with something small. The pause will become shorter, the bearing and witnessing will become easier, the questions will come more naturally, and the small thing will eventually become a large thing. This, until our ability to be present and loving, may seem to others as a simple and natural part of who we are – never going away.