“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.” Deuteronomy 6:5
Love
God. Sounds easy enough, especially
given the careless way these days the word is tossed out. You know what I’m
talking about: “I just love those
shoes!” “I’m loving this weather!” “She’s so easy to love, she’s so adorable!”
or, “Love ya, girlfriend!”
Of
course, anyone in any sort of meaningful relationship; marriage or partnership;
parents (or step-parents) or grandparents; siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins;
friends, neighbors and church family; knows that love is not simple. It requires the opposite of careless. It can require more, sometimes, than we think
we are capable of giving, perhaps even more than we really are capable of giving.
For
me, loving God is what I must do in order to be able to truly love others. Loving God has to come first, because it’s
the power I receive from that loving relationship that gives me the strength I
need to love others in my daily life.
So
what does loving God entail?
I
tend to think of my relationship with God in terms of a parental relationship; for
example, what, as a child, was required of me in my relationship with my mother
and father (or other parental figures or people in authority such as
teachers). And, like my interactions
with these individuals has, my relationship with God evolves over time; deepens
and matures with knowledge and understanding.
When
I was nine or ten, a friend and I tampered with the US mail. A neighbor was out of town for several weeks
and my friend’s mom was responsible for picking their mail up and putting it
into their house. One day, she sent my
friend to do it, and I tagged along. Full
of the logic of a young girl, my friend said, “Let’s open it up, maybe there is
a love letter in here somewhere!” So,
right then and there, standing at their mailbox, she tore into the three or
four envelopes she was holding, only to discover there was nothing juicy
whatsoever; only a bunch of bills. Sighing, she said, “Oh well!” and thrust the
opened mail at me and darted off, leaving me standing there with my mouth open
and the evidence of our wrong doing lying limply in my hands. Feeling helpless and
certain that this was not a good situation to be in, I decided to throw the
mail into the storm drain. Afterwards, I
rushed off after my friend, hoping we’d not be found out. For the next three weeks, this deed hung over
my life and I worried and fretted that I was going to get into big trouble. Of course, this is what eventually happened. The neighbor received late notices for bills
they had never received. They asked my
friend’s mom if she’d perhaps mislaid some of their mail. She became suspicious and asked my friend who
immediately sang like a canary. My
parents were informed of my role in the mess and, yes, I got into big
trouble. In addition to a (rare)
spanking, I was required to go over to the neighbor and apologize. My parents also decided that I would be
grounded for three weeks; and by grounded, this meant that, other than for
meals, going to school, and the necessary bathroom runs, I was to stay in my
bedroom. For. Three.
Weeks. And my friend? She was not allowed to go outside to play for
one day.
As
unfair as that may seem, I wasn’t really that upset about my punishment. Although I had not actually been the one to open the mail, I had not done the right thing with the evidence. What I should have done was go directly to my mom and tell her what happened. Peer pressure, of course, kept me from doing the right thing; I didn’t want my friend to think I was a baby. Actually, I was relieved that the other shoe
had finally dropped and I could sleep without waking up in the middle of the
night worrying or look at my mother again without feeling terribly guilty. Although
my three weeks in confinement may have seemed harsh to others, I vaguely
recognized then (and certainly know now some 40 years later) that my mom and
dad didn’t sentence me without long and deliberating thought and
conversation. They wanted me to learn
from this experience so that I would think twice before doing something so
foolish again to be sure, but also to remember that I must always go to them in
times of trouble and uncertainty.
Truthfully, I believe they were more concerned that I carried that heavy
load of guilt for three weeks than they were by what I’d done (or been an
accomplice to, at any rate). This
experience taught me a lot about respect; respect for others, respect for
authority, and respect for myself.
When
I think about my relationship with God, I am reminded of that episode in my
life, and the connection of “love” and “respect”;
especially to those in authority. And
who else has the ultimate authority over my life but God? Loving God means respecting God, and
respecting God means offering my presence, trusting Him as I release my burdens
and wrongdoings, seeking forgiveness and guidance, and following His
instructions; trusting that He has the best intentions for me; that He has my
back.
“For surely I know
the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for
harm, to give you a future with hope.
Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear
you. When you search for me, you will
find me; if you seek me with all of your heart.” Jeremiah 29:11-13
Mrs.
B
