Honesty

If I’m honest,

I must tell you that I am very scared. I’m afraid of loving people and then they die. Because I know this is what happens; it’s a part of life. I have experienced that. And maybe it has been those experiences themselves that have further solidified my fear.

I am afraid of dying. But I am more afraid of the death of those whom I love. Rather, I’m more afraid of loving for fear of losing those I love. Excuse my sentimentality as I am expecting my monthly reminder that I am a woman. But honestly, I am always very sentimental—a contemplative of sorts.

When I think of my future husband, I must admit that a part of me would prefer not to marry so that I don’t have to go through the pain of getting attached to him and then losing him. I’m not that brave, I feel. It seems as though I want to love safely. 

But yesterday my friend Nouwen reminded me that loving is worth the risk of the person leaving (by death or otherwise). That we must not fear to love because we fear losing the person. This arrests my heart and breathes hope into my thinking since, for a moment, I realize it is true. Those whom we love are worth the risk we take in loving them; the loss we might suffer. Just as I am worth their risk…just as we were worth the Father’s “loss” when the Son left the glory of eternity to enter into time. 

What is completely true of the Son can be partially true of us. Jesus “left” the Father in becoming Incarnate yet he did not ever leave because he was always also God, united with the Father in the bond of Love which is the Spirit. In a similar way, when we leave this earth to enter into eternity, we do not fully leave our family and loved ones. How, you may ask? This is possible because our presence is also in our absence. Our absence is the proof that we existed, that we were loved, and continue to be loved. 

We remain though we are gone. That is the cruel yet beautiful reality of death: that although our loved ones have passed, they are not gone. We don’t just forget them somehow; our memories are not washed away. No, they remain and we feel the closeness of our loved ones by groping through their absence. Our aching, our agony, our crying, our fresh tears despite the passing of years—these remind us that the wound of life remains. These are the proofs that we have loved. 

So when faced with the question of either living a life devoid of love in order to avoid the pain of loss or to live a life of loving deeply—which means embracing the risk of loss, perceiving their presence in their absence—I hope like me you respond with a prayer: “I am afraid, Lord, but I want to love. Give me the courage to risk losing everything that I may gain it all by loving. Amen.”

“God’s love for us is everlasting. That means that God’s love for us existed before we were born and will exist after we have died. It is an eternal love in which we are embraced. Living a spiritual life calls us to claim that eternal love for ourselves so that we can live our temporal loves – for parents, brothers, sisters, teachers, friends, spouses, and all people who become part of our lives – as reflections…of God’s eternal love.”

-Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey

Grace and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.