Photo on Best Running
I have always loved flawed human beings.
Their frailties hide their strengths.
I was not raised in a home where love was a vital force nor was it strong enough to be felt. I’m not sure where I developed my understanding of love. I do remember reading one Chick track..the one called “Somebody loves me” and I burst into tears the first time I read it. The second time made me angry and the third time, there was a sad wistfulness that the child had finally experienced the emotion of love even though they were never shown it.
That track has stayed with me. It’s weird as actual love wasn’t shown at all anywhere in it. It’s left a special sore spot for me. Maybe that was the subtle point of the propaganda, to expect no human being can love. It’s hooey. I can love. But more to the point, I can act on that love. I just have to be aware that I too am a flawed human being.
In my own life, I never realized my story of the buttercup field was a story of untold pain what as I child I didn’t know what to do with. It was something silly that was brushed off but at the core, I was horrified that my love caused hurts, even if it was unintentional. That love could cause pain flew in direct opposition to everything I believed then and in many ways since. In that I rejected love can indeed cause pain, it left me with the impossible situation; of how can it be love when it causes pain to others. Is it necessary for me to let go of the rigid definition of love or shall I simply blame it on operator error? Either answer does not matter. Nothing would change with either one.
I have to forgive myself of my own self-convicted sin of over-picking the buttercups. I learned that lesson and never over-picked any plant again. I also have to forgive myself for being afraid to love because in the course of love I may hurt the one I love. This is the lesson of love I failed to learn as a child. Love is strong enough to bridge the gaps, to make whole that what was torn and broken.