On Love: After a Beer in the Moonlight

"You are what you love, not what loves you back." This is true, at least, according to a Jenny Lewis song.

Lifted right out of the context of the song, I suppose that could mean quite a few things. But in my mind I imagine it being the kind of thing you'd say to someone disappointed by love.

To be "dis-appointed" suggests that there is a way things ought to be... that things are appointed. That there is an "oughtness" appointed by Fate or God or by the passion of our hearts. When this "appointment" is foiled... dissed... negated... corrupted... we experience a jarring betrayal. Our appointment with what felt like destiny has been canceled. Life, others, God, ourselves... has not delivered the promised goods.

There is a feverish lie that some believe... I've bought into it. Even though I reject it on an intellectual level, my heart believes this one particular lie; My worth lies in the hearts of other people. So if I am unloved, this must mean I am unloveable. Are you cozy with that lie? Many of us are. So let's unpack this a little more...

"You are what you love, not what loves you back." There is no real guidance here. Just an observation. But I think this could be an empowering statement. What "loves us back" has never been in our control. What we invest our hearts in, is always our choice. We have control there. But what should we love? I wish the song told us.

I also wish the song offered some protective measures. A magic spell against pain. Because the truth is, loving is dangerous. If you love someone with whom you've committed to share your life, and you live happily together "till death do us part," you will not escape the particular parting that death will lay upon you or your spouse. Even if you are together for sixty years, your soul mate will someday die. If you're lucky, you'll go first and never know that pain.

So, that's not looking very good. Perhaps we think about this and feel "disappointed" with God about how this world is set up. We love... only to lose. Is that it? The stakes are so incredibly high...

You may know that marriage is an identity. It is a relationship that permeates your whole being. You ARE what you love... who you love. What happens when the one you love dies? Do people ever think about that last clause in the wedding vows?

I imagine people do. But it's often uncomfortable. The death of someone we love... a partner... spouse... child... parent... means that a part of who we are, maybe even a large part of who we are, has died as well.

Religion offers a few antedotes. One in particular can make a difference, but accessing this antedote requires a strong spirit. You have to practice for a lifetime, because the reality of death is a full contact assault on your entire being. So what, in God's name, helps?

Gratitude, that's what. Now, before you hit the X at the top of your screen because you're put off by the triteness of my antedote, just chill out and keep reading...

I remember the ninety-one year old woman whose heart was weakened and barely working. Her mind remained sharp, however, and as I sat by her bedside I was able to hear about her gratitude. She was grateful for the big Montana sky of her childhood... the horses on her parents' ranch... the life and love she lived her entire life. If she was what she loved, she was many things. She had a large spirit.

Maybe that's a part of the secret. The scope of her love was broad, and so she was able to weather many losses without ever completely losing herself. Instead, she told me she was grateful. She didn't talk to me about the hope of Heaven. She talked about the gift of her life as she lived it. She did not seem "disappointed."

She is an unnamed saint in my memory. An ordinary person who loved extraordinarily. Her gratitude comes from a love that has learned not to grasp onto people, places, or things. Remember in high school when you got your heart broken and someone said to you, "If you love it, you'll let it go... if it loves you, it will return." Well, it's annoying, and even just typing the words makes me want to punch myself in my own face. But that doesn't change the fact that in some sense, it's true. In any case, the important part is the letting go. Love can let go. Because love doesn't own anyone. It accepts... it welcomes... even at great cost.

The courage of the wedding vow comes in the acknowledgement that nothing lasts forever. Health gives way to sickness... death leads to parting... And knowing that, two people can choose to love one another anyway. Grief will someday come, but it is also possible that gratitude will follow someday. The life lived between the alter and the grave means something. It has enriched life... created life... "You are what you love, not what loves you back."

If we love, we may find something that is painful to lose. We are at risk for pain. But if we love no one and no thing... we are nothing. We are frozen in non-living.

I do not know what I will feel on my death bed. But I hope it will be gratitude. I hope that I will be able to look back on a life characterized by loving others, despite what was offered back... despite what eventual loss has come. And I hope that someone loving me... losing me... will find that the journey has been worth the while.