I’m a
bit of a loner. Yup. Surprise, surprise.
But see,
there is a reason. It’s not just that I’m more “task-oriented” than others, (though
that’s part of it) or that I’m an introvert (though that’s part of it, too)
it’s also because I decided years ago – after feeling forgotten by others so
easily – that it would be less painful if I learnt to be content with being by
myself. So I did. And I got on quite well for several years. Despite my
self-isolation, some brave and beautiful souls at University did manage push
themselves into my heart. But I seldom let others carry me; I wanted to be “the
strong one” and I was afraid that, if they saw the ‘real me’ they would drop
me. So I was always extremely careful about who and how much I relied on other
people.
And
then, not too long ago, I was shown that I’m not as content or as wise or as strong
as I thought. I opened up, made mistakes, got hurt in ways I didn’t think
possible, and fell hard. My immediate reaction was retreat; retreat once again
behind the walls, refuse to let anyone touch me. I decided that the answer was
to stop giving, to stop sharing my heart, to stop showing people I cared, to go
back to being ‘happy’ as a loner.
Then I
wouldn’t get hurt again.
But I’m
beginning to realize that this might not be the best course of action. Closing myself
off may keep me from people who can hurt and leave me, but it still causes
pain. Closing myself off makes me bitter, it makes me seem cold, callous and uncaring,
it leads me to be suspicious of all who approach and to treat them like potential
enemies, instead of potential friends. It perpetuates my self-focused fear, my
self-absorption. Letting people in may lead to being hurt, but closing people
out can do just as much (and maybe even more) damage.
Besides,
even though being hurt is, well, painful (duh) and wounds take time to heal – sometimes
the scars and twinges are with us for the rest of our lives, sometimes they
disappear completely – but most of the time they teach us to recognize and be
more sensitive to the hurts in others.
I think
I’m learning (but I’m a slow learner) that the answer isn’t isolation: pretending
not to care may hurt less than caring, but I’m tired of pretending not to care.
I want to keep caring. I want to keep
trusting. So the answer isn’t withdrawal; its love. Wise, forgiving, gentle
love.
But love
is a burden. I promise I’m not saying
that in any tragic-romance, Spiderman-(whatever-her-name-is) kind of way, nor
in a woe-is-me, people-are-jerks kind of a way. I’m saying it with sobriety and
with hope. Truth is, we’ll never find someone who will always treat us right,
we’ll never find someone who won’t hurt or disappoint or forget to see us. We’re
human. That’s the sober reality. The hope part is that this doesn’t mean we
have to stop loving others, it means that real, through-the-pain love is so
precious that we should keep reaching for it! If we manage to keep it going, to
keep loving and trusting others, knowing that they might (and probably will)
hurt us, and that we’ll hurt them back, if we forgive and ask for forgiveness –
then this dismal world will be a little lighter.
I’m not
saying that’s easy but at least I only have one lifetime to love and get hurt
by people. Just imagine having every lifetime and every life – what a burden
God’s love must be to Him! We humans, the very children He created out of love,
just keep walking away and rebelling; we keep chasing after others and telling
Him we don’t need Him, we flick Him away like dust off our shoulders, we scream
in anger when we don’t understand. To my shame, I’ve done it all. And there’s
like a gajillion souls in the world – each of them (us) has hurt and left Him
in some way/form/time.
God has
the biggest burden of all. For some reason, that makes me want follow Him the
most. It gives me such hope that I (and others) can live through my bumbling attempts
to care for people.
So,
following His lead, I have to try to not close
myself off. I have to learn to desperately and sincerely, and (more often than
not) clumsily love the people He’s brought into my heart and life. Even knowing that I may well fall hard, again.
