Being in love is a wonderful thing. Knowing you’re not walking alone.
The excitement, the butterflies, the getting-to-know-each-other, the dreams, imaginations, wishes for the future. The things you tell yourself and each other, the castles you build in the skies, the expectations you have of and for another. It’s all so surreal.
You know you adore the other, but cannot explain why; believe you’d rather live a life of eternal solitude than be with someone other than the object of your (momentary) affection; and are convinced that you are simply made and meant for each other, even when everything and everyone else encourages you to flee. Well, that’s the power of love for you, often uncontrollable.
Love has a way of maximizing the good and minimizing the bad. As long as there is love, life can carry on. You see, love really never fails.
The problem is just: Love often makes no sense! It makes no sense when love holds two individuals together who are clearly not meant to be (note: I am not speaking of divorce here), or attracting two persons who had no business joining themselves in the first place.
On more fronts than less, love makes no sense.
That is why it is all the more special when you not just fall in love, and grow in it, but actually see sense in it. I think this is what I might have found.
Of course, no one is getting married just yet; but it is comforting, encouraging, and indeed a miracle to see sensible love unfold before one’s eyes, and maybe even almost tangibly inside one’s life.
I think I might have found just that. Or rather, he might have just found me.
It is beautiful to see that one cannot merely like someone, but indeed see sense in liking the person and preferring him to every other. Don’t get me wrong: I am not talking about knowing why one loves another, reasons for attraction, admiration, or renunciation (of others). I am talking about loving and seeing sense in it. There is the emotion itself, and then there is the awareness of “Okay I love him, but apart from the emotion, there is something holding is together.” At this point, I will call it a sense of purpose. The freedom to allow it grow due to a mutual understanding and deep persuasion that this might really just be it. A decision not birthed out of a sense of obligation (I cannot but love him, it is outside of my power not to. I can’t just help it. I am so in love) but dedication (I am choosing to not just love and commit to you because I have to, but because in the grand scheme of things, it makes perfect sense. Many others could do, but no one else will. I am choosing to dedicate all I have and am to you).
To me, that’s love that makes sense. A perfect fusion of head and heart, emotion and volition. Where the presence of one does not mean the absence of the other. Where there is no exclusion but only inclusion.
There is the Word, there are confirmations; there is the conviction, there are proclamations; there is dedication, and there are revelations. It is awesome and unique when they all tie in.. forming a solid knot.. something as firm as a rock.. beautifully wrapped in a fine satin sheet of faith and emotions. An admirable foundation to build anything, and especially a home and family; indeed one’s future on.
It makes sense when the boxes are ticked. Ticked off one by one; one after the other. Boxes you did not create or form or make up or imagine by yourself; but simply saw. As clearly as the writing on the wall. A divine pre-view of what was to come, firmly written on your heart. Kept safe, secure from others, lest they thought to manipulate, abuse, encapsulate, confuse you. Perhaps not today, but surely one day. Little suggestions; corrections you did not agree to but submitted to anyway. The fear of standing out. Perhaps like Joseph, the dreamer. Unable to convey what was seen for hearers to listen, and also see. Maybe it wasn’t just meant to be? Not meant to be shared; at least not just yet. But kept in the heart, as Mary did her own revelation. Christ. Safe and secure.. until the day it would show itself forth. All by itself.
An artist need not sell his work, my brother said. The work will speak for and sell itself. If it doesn’t, it isn’t real art.
And so, I shall say again what I said before: I have found sense in love. Not just love itself, but in loving him. It might last and it might not, but for now, yes for once, I pray it will do.
For I enjoy talking to you and I’ll love walking with you..