Love

Do you ever wonder if you really love God? Or like me, think that it is probably your need that plays tricks with you, making you have an affective response to God in hope that He will somehow do for you what you cannot do yourself?

For years, I have hesitated to tell God that I love Him. Because I'm not sure that I do and it's futile to fake it with a God who can read my thoughts. At least, the feelings that I have toward Him might be fondness, but is it possible to feel fondness for someone you've never seen face to face? I know that I am desperate for Divine intervention at times, and at other times am filled with admiration of God and all that He has done both in scripture and in my life. But I'm not sure that this is love.

There is no question that I experience something when I think of God. I have been talking to Him now for as long as I have been able to speak. My mother can still recall prayers I said as young as three years of age. God has been part of my daily life for as far back as my memory exists. I was a particularly devout child, reading the Bible, underlining the passages that comforted my yearning spirit. Prayers were almost wrung from my lips in my fervor and eagerness to make a connection with God and be dear to Him. There was the time when I was praying at the side of my bed, pouring out my heart to God. I was suddenly filled with a sense of God so strong that I was afraid to open my eyes for fear He would be sitting right there on my bed. But in my spiritual life there was more a sense of urgency and desperation to be close to God, without the adoring feeling that I associate with love.

There is also the issue of God's love for me. People write stories of amazing deliverances from peril, times when God prompted complete strangers to attend to unspoken but very real needs, or the impressions of God that have come through reflection, silence, or dreams. People respond with gratitude and (they say) gushes of loving feelings for God. But this is gratitude and I'm not sure it's not the same thing as love.

I used to go round and round in my head on this point until self-doubt nearly drove me crazy. Perhaps I am just incapable of feeling or understanding the love of God--either from me toward God, or God's love toward me. Don't misunderstand me here: I do not ever want to be away from God and I find tremendous comfort knowing that He is Omniscient and Omnipresent. And that He is both loving and just. But for a long time, the monotony of familiarity numbed me up, so to speak, so that I have not been able to identify a burst of love for God.

I started in on this train of thought this week again, after I spent some time in thought and prayer. I had such a hunger for God after several days during which I did not make, nor had the time to spend in prayer and Bible study. There was a desperation and anxiety about getting into God's presence and soaking up what was to be had: peace, assurance, trust, the knowledge that God is on my side and yes, that He loves me. On came the doubt and the questions about whether it is possible for me to truly love God, or merely be drawn--by instinct--to His side. I must be blind, I thought. I can't see, feel, or grasp God's love for me and therefore I can't love Him back.

Surely I must have seen and felt God's love somewhere. Maybe in the behavior of someone else. As soon as this thought entered my head many images passed through my mind:

My father holding me in his hands, lowering me into the bathtub for the first time after I was burned. It is the first real memory I have of life. I was burned in that bathtub and he knew I would be frightened and traumatized to get back in it. So he held me up against his chest, my little bottom in his hands, as he wiggled my feet back and forth in the water. I could hear his deep voice rumbling in his chest, saying such nice, soothing things. There was absolutely no fear on my part because I was transfixed on his voice and the warmth of his body against my back. Nothing could happen to me with him holding me.

My therapist: the warmth of his eyes, the way his posture was always inclined toward me, even when I told him things about myself that anyone else would have fled from; and my words made no difference in how he treated me. In fact, he seemed to have even a softer spot in his heart for me. He always lit up when he saw me and I had an almost visceral response in the form of my heart feeling lighter, my eyes locked with his, and a trusting, knowing smile on both of our faces. Even though he held me accountable for things, it was always within the context of absolute acceptance of who I was.

My friend, Betty, has shown me what the love of God is. After I moved to Minnesota she called me nearly every day for 4 years. She knew that I didn't know anyone in that state and she was very concerned that I would be lonely. So she'd call and chat up a storm with me. I could tell her anything and everything. Although she is 35 years older than I am, she has been one of my closest friends in the world and I became the daughter she never had. There was the wisdom that comes from seeing more of life than I had, of being more traveled and exposed to many more things than I ever have been. She'd tell me, "Lovie, I know God is guiding you. I can see it." And I'd be sure of it, even in the darkness and uncertainty of my path.

One friend, whom I've known for 30 years now, has been generous beyond measure toward me. She thinks I'm "great" --terrific, that is. Shelly is always eager to be with me: shopping, making music together, talking on the phone--it doesn't matter. She just wants to be nearby and I love that. She has flown me places, sent me letters and cards, given me the perfect gifts over and over. We have laughed together, cried together, roomed together. The eagerness with which she seeks me out--this is what God has for me. I like that a lot.

Another friend is one whom I almost never tire of talking to. She often calls at odd hours when ideas hit her and she wants to share them with me. Before I know it, we're off into the world of ideas and abstract notions and I can escape from the concrete thinking and mental miasma that is so common elsewhere. My friend Paul is like this, too. Time disappears when I am talking with these friends. It is typical to talk more than two hours every time we talk--even though she lives only 10 minutes away.

These people who are all dear to me, have elements of God in them. He has given each of them some characteristic that mirrors His qualities. The eagerness to be with me, the inexhaustible range of things to share together, the support, love, comfort, reassurance, trust--all of these things are God qualities that I get to love and enjoy in the form of my friends. I am convinced that I love my friends and family members. There is no doubt in my mind.

So comes the question: If God is like these people are to me, do I not love God dearly?
I'm realizing that perhaps I do. Much more than I realized.