This has raised some interesting questions for me. Do I love my pet? He biologically cannot love. A cat, a dog, or even a larger snake can to some extent. Sprinkles just isn't that smart. But he's still our pet. We enjoy him; he's an amazing creature and we say we love him for his looks. We want him to be comfortable and live well. As we fight with him to get him to eat--especially each time we try to pull him out and for a moment we wonder if he's dead--I'm still not sure how I might feel about him dying.
I know that I would be upset, but I don't think I would feel worse than losing my phone. This confession sounds heartless, but it is honest. That being said, if the evil supervillian were making me choose between our snake and my phone, I would choose the living creature each time. Now between our snake and our car, that gives me more pause, considering the investment.
But it's still a confusing question: how much can or should I love something that cannot love me back?
I had my legion of stuffed animals growing up, and each time I accidentally knocked one of them off the bed, I hugged them and apologized. As I got older, I had to explicitly remind myself that they, in fact, could not feel. This was not made any easier by movies such as Toy Story or stories like The Velveteen Rabbit that implied all kinds of possibilities. The Goosebumps book Night of the Living Dummy gave me nightmares for a while. When I reached a point where I was ready to donate these stuffed animals, I reminded myself that it was better that someone else love them than for them to stay in storage. I have kept a couple that were especially important, but I had a decent collection of animals and beanie-babies and projected emotions and affection from all of them. I still prefer to imagine that they have found loving homes. When we traded in our mini-van, I was upset and thinking about all the "good-times" that we'd had together. I don't even remember the van now, whether it was the red one or the white one with the wood.
How much time and energy have I spent loving things that cannot love me back?
I know many people that lavish affection on things. Calling their car their baby and treating it as such. Worshiping a computer, phone, or video game system. Loving a dream to an extent that it is more of a stagnant affection, spending more energy dreaming than doing. A job can do things for you, but it doesn't necessarily love you back (if yours does, good for you). That thing could also be a concept, such as having a lot of money, reaching a specific platitude (right body, right job, right status symbol, etc.), or basically anything that you can fill in this sentence: "I would be happy if only I had _________."
How fiercely we have protected and cherished things that can never return the favor. Where can that time an energy be better spent?
Why do we not spend it on people? I have seen things and ideas chosen over people all the time, even with the countless Christmas specials on why this is wrong.
There's absolutely a risk. People let you down, that whole imperfect thing that we do. And to make things even more complicated, sometimes people don't love you back. Here is where I have some mixed feelings.
On the one hand, I need to protect myself. I remember one of my first "friends" from when I was five or six. The quotes are there because this person extorted me with friendship: if I did not give her a couple of specific toys, she "wasn't going to be my friend anymore." After she had left, one of my parents found me crying and asked what was wrong. I was directed to ask for those toys back and told that I didn't have to give her things if I didn't want to. I did ask. We got some of them back. I'm not sure if she made good on her threat or if my parents intervened, but I don't even remember her name nor have I spent much time thinking about her since. You can love people that do not love you back. When someone doesn't feel the same way as you do--regardless of what kind of relationship it is--it is hard and it can hurt. When someone doesn't love you back, sometimes the best thing to do is to back off and even cut ties, if necessary.
On the other hand, those that don't love you back might be those that need it the most. To paraphrase Jesus, it's easy to love those that love you back; it's hard to love your enemies. But that kind of love is what changes people and us in turn. The people who are hardest to love usually need it the most. I know some people that are outwardly abrasive or annoying or something else undesirable, but they still deserve to be welcomed, too. If I withhold friendship until they change to something I like, how am I better than my "friend" who wanted my toys? Withholding friendship is a form of bullying. Jesus welcomed everyone, especially the undesirables, and I cannot ignore that. But this also comes with a certain amount of risk. You can lose standing with others, you can still get hurt or taken advantage of, or, the worse case scenario, the undesirable could spend more time with you. Really though, I would hope that we could see the value of that person in time and that the change would be apparent in both sides.
These are both highly situational. Sometimes it's obvious and other times it's a murky kind of mess where perhaps you could be too close to know what to do. I happen to think that people are worth the attempt. I want to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes, it takes energy to care about someone and to reach out to them, but what can be gained is worth the effort. AND I can easily make up that spent effort by loving "things" less.
Except maybe our dumb snake. I like our dumb snake. I still hope we can convince him to eat.
There's absolutely a risk. People let you down, that whole imperfect thing that we do. And to make things even more complicated, sometimes people don't love you back. Here is where I have some mixed feelings.
On the one hand, I need to protect myself. I remember one of my first "friends" from when I was five or six. The quotes are there because this person extorted me with friendship: if I did not give her a couple of specific toys, she "wasn't going to be my friend anymore." After she had left, one of my parents found me crying and asked what was wrong. I was directed to ask for those toys back and told that I didn't have to give her things if I didn't want to. I did ask. We got some of them back. I'm not sure if she made good on her threat or if my parents intervened, but I don't even remember her name nor have I spent much time thinking about her since. You can love people that do not love you back. When someone doesn't feel the same way as you do--regardless of what kind of relationship it is--it is hard and it can hurt. When someone doesn't love you back, sometimes the best thing to do is to back off and even cut ties, if necessary.
On the other hand, those that don't love you back might be those that need it the most. To paraphrase Jesus, it's easy to love those that love you back; it's hard to love your enemies. But that kind of love is what changes people and us in turn. The people who are hardest to love usually need it the most. I know some people that are outwardly abrasive or annoying or something else undesirable, but they still deserve to be welcomed, too. If I withhold friendship until they change to something I like, how am I better than my "friend" who wanted my toys? Withholding friendship is a form of bullying. Jesus welcomed everyone, especially the undesirables, and I cannot ignore that. But this also comes with a certain amount of risk. You can lose standing with others, you can still get hurt or taken advantage of, or, the worse case scenario, the undesirable could spend more time with you. Really though, I would hope that we could see the value of that person in time and that the change would be apparent in both sides.
These are both highly situational. Sometimes it's obvious and other times it's a murky kind of mess where perhaps you could be too close to know what to do. I happen to think that people are worth the attempt. I want to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes, it takes energy to care about someone and to reach out to them, but what can be gained is worth the effort. AND I can easily make up that spent effort by loving "things" less.
Except maybe our dumb snake. I like our dumb snake. I still hope we can convince him to eat.
No comments:
Post a Comment