when i was 16 years old i fell in love with a broken boy. he was new to our school, had come from rehab. he proudly went to AA in the evenings, was living with his father who he'd newly reunited with, and smoke a pack a day of marlboro reds. he wore bandanas tied around each ankle and one on his head over his long hair that smelled like strawberries. he smelled like the taste of a strawberry mento, tobacco and sometimes patchouli (but i think that came later).
i was drawn to him. he was cute and he was new and he was different and he was broken. the sad part is, i had this crazy idea that i could fix him, which assumed that a) he needed to be fixed, b) he wanted to be fixed, and c) that i could be the one to fix him. i don't think any of those assumptions were true.
the unfairness of the world has been high on my list of "issues" since i was a young child. one of my earliest memories is being aghast at a homeless man's lack of coat on a cold snowy night in boston, when i had 2 coats. this made me cry, and wonder, and reflect. but it also left me feeling confused and guilty and upset with the way the world works.
i went to peru on a missions trip when i was 14 and saw a lot more of the unfair and the unjust. but when i met this boy- his unfair was on the inside. i was like heidi, or pollyanna, or any number of characters where the sweet girl shines her light onto the grumpy old relative reminding them that love is real and true and worth trying. there is then redemption and connection and healing. i wanted this so badly for this boy.
my mom sized him up and told me there would be trouble, that he had, "that look in his eye."
"what look??" i asked accusingly. "the look that tells me he's seen a lot more in his 16 years than you've seen in yours." i knew she was right- not about the trouble, but about his eyes.
i had this idea that if i could love him enough, he'd see the beauty and value that i saw in him. i wanted him to know he was worthy, he was important, he was as valuable as anyone else, he was special. i wanted to make up for past loss and abuse and betrayal. i wanted to draw on the love i'd been shown, on the affirmation that i'd had for my 16 years, on the support and the blessing of a family rich in love, and i wanted to share it with him. i wanted to give him my second coat.
it took a long time for me to realize what was wrong with all this, and what was wrong with me. it took a long time for me to see that i was broken too (because we all are) and that my need to fix things was actually part of my broken. that assumptions a, b, and c were wrong. people aren't in need of fixing, they are in process. you can't love someone "enough" to make up for a lot of loss and pain- it's part of them, part of their story, part of their process. and people want to be loved- not fixed- so that as motive, will never help, it will never work.
life is hard. the world is full of crazy. we are all broken.
now i live in africa where i'm surrounded by hard and crazy and broken, all the time. now i still have that same pain in my heart at the unfairness, at the lack of and the fact that even as a missionary, reliant on the generosity of others, i have much more than most people here. and just like i hated that fact when i was 6, and 16, i still hate it. and just like i wanted to fix it then, i still want to fix it.
but.
what is asked of me? to be still and know. to love God with all my heart and soul and strength. to love my neighbor, as myself, (which means to love myself- yikes), to give, to try, to look and not turn away, to challenge the unfair, to work for justice, to be a voice for the voiceless, to be the hands and feet of God. to love. to love. to love -not to fix it- but just because it's right. to love even when it will stay broken. to love because everyone has a story. to love because it will become a part of their story. to love. to love...
"Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It's the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too. ” - frederick buechner
i was drawn to him. he was cute and he was new and he was different and he was broken. the sad part is, i had this crazy idea that i could fix him, which assumed that a) he needed to be fixed, b) he wanted to be fixed, and c) that i could be the one to fix him. i don't think any of those assumptions were true.
the unfairness of the world has been high on my list of "issues" since i was a young child. one of my earliest memories is being aghast at a homeless man's lack of coat on a cold snowy night in boston, when i had 2 coats. this made me cry, and wonder, and reflect. but it also left me feeling confused and guilty and upset with the way the world works.
i went to peru on a missions trip when i was 14 and saw a lot more of the unfair and the unjust. but when i met this boy- his unfair was on the inside. i was like heidi, or pollyanna, or any number of characters where the sweet girl shines her light onto the grumpy old relative reminding them that love is real and true and worth trying. there is then redemption and connection and healing. i wanted this so badly for this boy.
my mom sized him up and told me there would be trouble, that he had, "that look in his eye."
"what look??" i asked accusingly. "the look that tells me he's seen a lot more in his 16 years than you've seen in yours." i knew she was right- not about the trouble, but about his eyes.
i had this idea that if i could love him enough, he'd see the beauty and value that i saw in him. i wanted him to know he was worthy, he was important, he was as valuable as anyone else, he was special. i wanted to make up for past loss and abuse and betrayal. i wanted to draw on the love i'd been shown, on the affirmation that i'd had for my 16 years, on the support and the blessing of a family rich in love, and i wanted to share it with him. i wanted to give him my second coat.
it took a long time for me to realize what was wrong with all this, and what was wrong with me. it took a long time for me to see that i was broken too (because we all are) and that my need to fix things was actually part of my broken. that assumptions a, b, and c were wrong. people aren't in need of fixing, they are in process. you can't love someone "enough" to make up for a lot of loss and pain- it's part of them, part of their story, part of their process. and people want to be loved- not fixed- so that as motive, will never help, it will never work.
life is hard. the world is full of crazy. we are all broken.
now i live in africa where i'm surrounded by hard and crazy and broken, all the time. now i still have that same pain in my heart at the unfairness, at the lack of and the fact that even as a missionary, reliant on the generosity of others, i have much more than most people here. and just like i hated that fact when i was 6, and 16, i still hate it. and just like i wanted to fix it then, i still want to fix it.
but.
what is asked of me? to be still and know. to love God with all my heart and soul and strength. to love my neighbor, as myself, (which means to love myself- yikes), to give, to try, to look and not turn away, to challenge the unfair, to work for justice, to be a voice for the voiceless, to be the hands and feet of God. to love. to love. to love -not to fix it- but just because it's right. to love even when it will stay broken. to love because everyone has a story. to love because it will become a part of their story. to love. to love...
"Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It's the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too. ” - frederick buechner
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