Stay Away From Easy

I’m a sucker for the 90’s action movies. Jurassic Park, Hook, Tremors: they had maximum adrenaline without blatant swearing and sex intermingled with everything. One of my favorites is Independence Day. At one point, one of the main characters, David, is having a breakdown over the events of the movie, and his father is trying to “talk him off a ledge” metaphorically. David has lost his marriage, seen thousands of people die and knows that the entire human race is about to be destroyed by aliens. In the face of imminent annihilation, David’s father responds, “[At least] you still have your health!”

At least. In discussion with a friend the other day, he told me that “at least” in his mind is the worst phrase in the English language. Essentially what it means is that we’re not willing to validate whatever is being said or presented as a problem. As someone who craves validation, and needs little else to be sustained, I have to agree with him.

I’m an avid runner; there’s nothing that makes me happier or brings me better stress relief. I typically run about 25 miles a week and participate in several races every year. About 9 months ago, I injured my knee on a normal run and haven’t been able to run for more than 5 minutes without excruciating pain ever since then. I’ve done everything that I’ve been told, stumped multiple doctors, been dropped by my physical therapist because he ran out of ideas, and essentially am no closer to finding a solution. Whenever someone asks me about my next race and I start explaining my situation, I inevitably get a response along the lines of, “At least you can still walk. At least you’re still healthy. At least you haven’t done something really horrible to it. At least you can find something else to love.” While I know these people mean well, and while intellectually I know that they are right, it doesn’t mean that I don’t feel emotional and physical pain in association with this trial. It doesn’t mean that I’m being silly or petty or stupid. It’s real pain to me: it’s a real struggle. I have shed more tears over this injury than over most of my lost loves.

I don’t like the phrase “at least” for another reason too: I often use it to justify mediocrity in myself. When I don’t do as well as I should have – “At least I tried. Lots of people didn’t even try; I must be better than them.” When I do something I know I shouldn’t have – “At least I didn’t do something as horrible as that person. At least my bad choices don’t hurt a lot of people. I could have done something much worse; I must be better than them.”

I believe this line of thinking is destructive because we’re creating a measuring stick and shoving it next to people, including ourselves. A measuring stick for pain, strength, trials and other intangibles that were never meant to be measured or compared. Additionally, the very phrase means “at a minimum” meaning that I’m searching for the very worst case scenario and trying to be grateful that I’m not there. There is always something worse: it’s hardly something to aim for. I feel like it’s faking gratitude that we haven’t fallen as hard as somebody else, which is possibly the most uncharitable attitude one can have.

Real gratitude is something completely different. Real gratitude means being willing to try again and a little harder tomorrow. It means letting your challenges make you more tough and tender. It means being patient when those around you are struggling, because you remember what your struggles have done for you. It means, in the words of Sherrie Dew, that “…you can be frustrated with the delay without being worried about the outcome.” It means finding joy in the journey, lifting where you stand and genuinely believing with all your heart that things will work out eventually.

At least, that’s what I think.

The One Choosing to Love

My parents just returned from serving a mission for their church, and with their return came my entire family to visit. To put it in perspective, it's over 50 people. Days were spent with outings, eating, changing diapers, quick conversations in passing and staying up too late just enjoying each others' company. As I observed the bustle of each family my siblings have formed, I was struck by how different each marriage and family seems to function, and yet they all do in fact function. Different communication, discipline, schedules, habits and dietary restrictions, but overall a lot of love. That's what I've felt this week: the unconditional love of people who think the world of each other and don't withhold it.

My niece a.k.a. The Baby Whisperer

C.S. Lewis said, "Everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment." Frequently this is how the media portrays true love: in it's glory moments. The times when everyone's hair is perfect, no one has been crying, the crisis has passed, declarations have been made and true love's kiss experienced. The credits roll and we walk out feeling warm and fuzzy and sighing. Ok . . . maybe that's just me. But the fact of the matter is that this only represents a small portion of true love. In fact, the part of true love that fades away. Disease, death, work troubles, depression, bad hair days, and life interrupt moments where everyone looks and feels perfect. That's when true love, unconditional love kicks in. That's when you have to choose it.

Unconditional. I love that word for some reason. It's probably because I love absolutes. I love physics and math and statistics because they are predictable; they are stable. In reality, nothing is absolute. (Irony? Maybe.) Even the laws of physics change because our understanding of them changes. Statistical modeling can be incorrect. People and markets and nature are irrational. Unconditional love is an amazing concept, but it only comes through the power of choice. And not one choice, but a succession of choices. Choosing every single day to look past the insanity of life and pain and disappointment and humanity, and then choosing to actively love people no matter what. "The only way love can last a lifetime is if it's unconditional. The truth is this: love is not determined by the one being loved but rather by the one choosing to love."

The greatest compliment I ever received was a friend who once told me, "I love that you're so human. And you're not afraid of it." While I disappoint myself on a regular basis, I'm not afraid of the fact that I'm not perfect. And I'm not afraid of the humanity of the people around me. I wish we would all allow each other the room to be human, to make mistakes, to learn and grow, and then forgive and move forward. "To enter heaven is to become more human than you ever succeeded in being on earth; to enter hell is to be banished from humanity." I will make mistakes every day. As long as they are different ones than I made yesterday, I'm getting somewhere. Please just allow me to be human.

Unconditional love doesn't mean that we don't want the people we love to become their best. On the contrary, "Love, in it's own nature, demands the perfecting of the beloved." Loving someone unconditionally means that we desire the very best for them and of them. "Love may, indeed, love the beloved when her beauty is lost; but not because it is lost. Love may forgive all infirmities and love still in spite of them: but love cannot cease to will their removal." In a similar fashion, our Heavenly Father loves us with all he has, he allows us to make mistakes so that we can grow and become the eternal, perfect beings he sees we have the potential to become.

Perhaps it's a romantic notion; perhaps it is unrealistic. But in all my searching and dating, ultimately this is what I am looking for: someone to choose me. Everyday. Even on my bad hair days.

My crazy, wonderful friends, who teach me every day
what it is to accept patiently the things that are not ideal about life.