let lemons be angry

So much for organising Lovefool; I don't know how to love or be loved.

There is a simple truth that children sing, and that I tell anyone who will hear it: God loves me. But I've only thought about it as the kind of love between a kind master and a servant. I do what I'm supposed to do, and I do my best, and I report to Him what I've done and check that it's alright. Then with my eyes still averted I retreat into my own room and wait for His promises to come true. And they do; it's been a transaction of faith.

But I've never really thought about what it means for Him to love me. To want me to stay after I've done everything He's told me to do. To care about me the same way another human being cares for me: all the silly little things like doing what makes me laugh, or just wanting to spend some time together. He's been a loving God only in my head, a foot away from my heart.

And the same goes for the people who love me the most. I can't understand it, I can't grasp it wholly. I still think that they want the most perfect girl that I can be. And so in return I don't know how to love them back any other way than in my head.

--

I know why though. Because this kind of great love, though unconditional, comes with expectations. Can unconditional love still come with expectations? But it does. And I know it because I see it in myself when I love other people (and creatures). Nothing they do can make me stop loving them, but that doesn't mean there aren't expectations.

Because if somebody loves you, they will expect only the best of you, because they want your life to go well. Parents don't expect other people's children to do well or stay away from bad habits. Is it about having control over somebody's life? Perhaps, but love without expectations isn't true love.

What I hadn't understood so well, though, was that this unconditional and expectant love also applies to me. I can't believe that I am loved. I either don't know what I could be loved for, or I just don't think about it. So now I'm listening to the word "love" more carefully in church, letting it hit me as sharply as it did only a day ago, as if hearing about love for the first time. And I'm taking a new look at practical love, wondering why I stopped hugging my parents and why I do things that don't give anything back to them.

All I know how to do is give presents to people and be there for them, in some weak-kneed attempt to voice what I feel. I keep my distance because I don't know if I'm wanted around.

I'm getting there. Just because I know this now.