A conversation I had with God about the love all around me. It really was a meaningful conversation despite how silly it might sound.
Written December 2015, Revised
I ran into the dollar store for Chef Boy R Dee, and a $2 angel hung on the Christmas rack with the word LOVE written across it. Two other wired angels with a beaded head had Peace. I wanted the Love one. I love angels, and it’s so hard to find Christmas decorations of angels anymore (I’m guessing it’s the anti-religious sentiment in all the demographic research). Everything in my house is LOVE and Angels, so to have the word LOVE written across an angel? Priceless. Right?
Except today is the day before pay day. I have $2 to spend on the angel, but I don’t risk buying stuff like that in case what little money I have left is needed for something else, and in this case, the school is having some sort of Christmas week, and tomorrow is Red and Green day, and my little Solma is really concerned about having something perfect for it. I might have to run out to Walmart, and stuff like that could be $100 easy if I’m not careful.
Now today has been a very sad day for me. Nobody died. Thankfully. But I take a pill now for my “moods” because a side effect of my pill for my focus issues is mood issues, and now I actually experience moods if I miss this pill. Well I was out of this pill last night, so I missed one day. I don’t know if it’s the pill or just me, but I spent the entire day crying in my bed for no obvious reason reminding myself how much I’m not loved.
So I got in my car thinking,
“Well if that last one is still there tomorrow, it was meant to be. What am I saying? This is stupid. Wanting the LOVE angel in particular is stupid.”
I could feel God nipping at my heart with,
“What’s so stupid about wanting Love?”
Like He knew it was more than just an angel decoration. He knew what I really wanted was love. To be loved. And I was losing faith in love by admitting to myself it’s the dumbest thing to ever want.
Then I was trying to say, with my heart, something like
Look around. Do you see any love anywhere?
But it came out,
“Look around God. Do you see any effing love?”
And for one half of a second, I looked around and I saw beautiful trees in the skyline off in the distance rolling off the hills of West Virginia, also known as God’s Country. The evening sky was an overwhelmingly peaceful blanket comforting all underneath it, and the air was full of so much potential and greatness. I felt like I was staring into a Hallmark Norman Rockwell, and I didn’t want to see that because I wasn’t feeling that. What I saw had to have been a lie.
I thought to myself,
“God, you see potential. I don’t. I gave up on everyone a long time ago. I see nothing but a bunch of lost souls wandering about, clueless, searching for YOUR love in particular, but since they can’t find it, they resort to being selfish jerks. Why do you think I try so hard to love everyone, especially those who hurt me? Why do you think I write so much about the importance of love? It’s because I can’t find it anywhere, so I make it up myself so that I can at least feel it once in a while.”
Then I got this feeling,
“What about my love? Don’t you see it anywhere?”
Half of me responded…
“Where? I can’t see you. I can’t feel you. Half of the world doesn’t even believe You exist and I can’t even experience You on a level to prove You.”
while the other half of me stared at the empty seat next to me…
“Your love is more of a hope and faith thing, something I hope to feel AFTER I die, something I have faith in that exists. I need something here. Right next to me. Someone I can touch. Someone who puts my needs above theirs. Someone who truly loves me. Someone who wouldn’t hurt me.”
And that last part had meaning because most of the day, I focused on how people have been hurting me, and how they will do it again. How some are in the process of doing it again. How it doesn’t stop. There is a special place in hell where people go where they don’t remember anything but pain, and lately, it feels like that is all I have to remember… that the only memories I’m developing through experience are only painful ones, and some in my past are too painful to forget. It really felt like a child-like part of my soul, the one that still believes in magic, the one that still hoped for love, she was dying.
I wanted God next to me. I wanted God in the flesh. He’s the only one who hasn’t hurt me.
It wasn’t in words that He answered. It was in feelings. It actually took my breath away for a second in one of those ah-ha moments where I found another reason to love God as much as I do, one of the most beautiful things about Him.
To put those feelings best into words into a way you might think God would speak…
“You don’t fully understand love and how it works. Look at that tree. I made that tree with Love. I made everything with love no different than you put your heart and passion into the things you create. Look at that mailbox.
I know right? a mailbox? God? Really? A mail box?
“The craftsmanship of that mail box in particular was made out of love. It’s placement was designed with convenience in mind, an act of love. It holds love letters and greeting cards, sharing love between people. Even the postal workers put heart into their efforts working extra hard to make sure you get that gift someone sends you, despite their salary and workload… All these people, I created with all the Love I have. My love shines through them in their work and their deeds.
If you want to feel loved, look at the trees. I made them for you. Look at the stars, I made them for you. Look at all the people. I made them for you.
Look at yourself. I made you for them.”
And I had an overwhelming sense of,
“Look at all the love around you!”
And He’s right. I’m probably in one of those moods where a Prince could show up on a white horse, jump down, hand me flowers and 3 million dollars in cash and take me on a date he spent the last 3 weeks trying to prepare, sing a song he wrote for me with an orchestra playing a harmony, and I still wouldn’t feel loved because that’s how I feel. My feelings really are not dictated by anyone but myself, and God is the ONLY one who can jump in and show me how to feel better.
So I walked into my house appreciating trees and bushes like Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Pond, climbed up the steps admiring the hard work of splintered hands of a man who slaved to provide for his family, comparing those hands to my father’s hands. Walked in my door passed the coat rack of cheap coats imagining the callouses on a woman’s fingers in some place like Vietnam or Bangladesh and all the pricks she endured to feed her children and keep mine warm. I passed the beaded angel coloring my window that took more talent and patience than the dollar I paid for it at a craft show could ever afford.
My kids ran up to me curious of what was in my bags making all the cute faces they always make, and I thought how their smiles are so uniquely different between them, and then I realized the LOVE and nurture, the nights without sleep, every bandaid, all the love I put into my craftmanship as a mother.
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