The danger of the theoretical: a confession.

"The truly wide taste in humanity will similarly find something to appreciate in the cross-section of humanity whom one has to meet every day. In my experience it is Affection that creates this taste, teaching us first to notice, then to endure, then to smile at, then to enjoy, and finally to appreciate, the people who 'happen to be there.' Made for us? Thank God, no. They are themselves, odder than you could have believed and worth far more than we guessed."                                                        
--C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

I woke up terribly grumpy this morning.  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was slightly-soggy canvas, a mere two inches from my nose; my back was contorted into a shape that would make the Hunchback of Notre Dame envious.  I was spooning with my giant backpack in the corner of our tiny tent, with one leg somehow thrown over the backpack and the other hidden somewhere underneath Marit’s sleeping bag.  The air was hot and stuffy, the product of three girls with head colds all stuck in the same space for eight hours, and I was miserable and couldn’t breathe.  It was raining.  And 7 AM.  And I had woken up early so I could finish a pile of Romanian homework, left unfinished the night before.  Boo.

But I am learning something from this rotten day.  I got to thinking on the half-hour walk from the Bates’ house to the Impact building, where we had class (in the same clothes I’d worn since the morning before).  Normally I don't mind wearing the same clothes two days in a row, or getting wet, or walking, but the nagging feeling that all this frustration was coming from an evening that was just an exercise in futility made me grumpy.  I found it really difficult to be pleasant in the tent this morning, as ashamed as I am to admit that.  Everything was driving me nuts: the rain, the Romanian, the people, the crowing roosters, myself.  I hate days like that. Thankfully, I ended up walking by myself to class, and as I did, the words of 1 Corinthians 13 popped into my head.  If I have not love, I am nothing. Here is the confession I must make, and the hard lesson I am learning here: no matter how much I may think I love God and my neighbor in my mind, or in my lifestyle, or in my words, or in how I vote, or whatever, if I cannot find affection and patience and kindness and goodwill towards these particular people for the next three months, all that other stuff means nothing.  I walked past a piece of trash on the sidewalk as I was thinking about all this and thought about stooping to pick it up, but stopped myself when I thought, 'Kelly, if you can't love these people enough to not be annoyed by their every action, then don't fool yourself into thinking you're pleasing God by picking up trash.'  (Not that caring for creation isn't important, but cleaning the inside of the cup will make the outside match…)

I could make a lot of excuses.  I could talk about needing personal space and time alone and how it's hard to be with the same four people all the time and how I don't know any of them but Marit very personally (thank God for Marit and walking up and down the mountain together every day and the Real conversations that ensue!).  But excuses will always exist, and eventually we have to stop making them and start living the way we are called to live!  So, for me, here it is.  This is where I am.  These are the particulars of my situation, the very specific people I'm called to love.  This sort of love is something I just have to commit to, even when I don't feel it.  This is love in practice, not just in theory.  After all, love is a fruit of the Spirit, but it's also a verb (thanks, dc Talk).  It's an action and a decision.  I want to make that decision every day, even when it’s hard.  I suppose I could survive this semester by just skimming along, coexisting peacefully with the Northwestern students.  But to settle for simple coexistence would mean a failure of true fellowship and community, and that’s not okay.  It's a cheap and surface-level substitute for the Real, Authentic, often (always?) difficult, but Good life that we are created for.  That’s not the abundant life that Jesus promises—and I want that life abundant.  It’s never promised to be easy, but it is promised to be Good.  So here we go… praxis. Or, in the words of Over the Rhine: I was born to laugh.  I'll learn to laugh through my tears. I was born to love.  I'm gonna learn to love without fear.