The Clumsy Part of Love

I think the hardest part about love is wondering how to do it. Love can be clumsy.

Love can hurt while seeking to heal. It can harm while trying to help. I'm the type of person who sees a friend hurting and wants so badly to know how to help them in the exact right way that I'm rendered ineffectual. Sarah's far better at saying, "You know, it's the thought that counts," and moving along in the ways of love, ministering to everyone. It is hard to want to help but to feel incapable. I know there are times when nothing you can say or do is going to make things better. I know there are times when grief and heartbreak are what is needed.

But I can always love.

See, the clumsy love is still valuable. I didn't realize this until Sarah and I started talking about it, and her words to me were something along the lines of, "At least they know you care, even if you're not helping in the exact right way." The longer we talked about it, the more I realized that it's actually true. So I'm going forward and fumbling my way along the paths of love like an American in Tanzania who has no idea what language the people speak but knows that they need water and food and medical help. I'm stumbling along and accidentally bumping into bruises and wincing for my friends and hoping they can overlook the clumsy and see to the love that's filling my soul for their battered hearts. I hope they can. I know someday they will.

And then like a faint faint dawn breaking through the swath of night, God brings a realization to me: I don't need to think about how to get them out of this, past this, through this. I need to help them in this. And suddenly my fear that I'll be clumsy in my love starts to fade because I can do this. Some tragedies, heartbreaks, dark valleys are too too deep and terrifying to simply get over. Sometimes it's Love's turn to play catch-me-if-you-can and to keep the faintest spark of hope kindled in the soul of another. I've got my orders now and they've been confirmed:

Cup the flame.

That's all I need to do. Clumsy people can cup a flame. People who don't know how to love in all the perfect ways can cup a flame. People who have never experienced huge dark places or immense tragedies can cup a flame. People who--in all honestly--cannot relate can cup a flame.
And the way to cup that flame, to keep that hope alive?

Keep whispering light, keep giving hugs, keep not-letting them go. When they let their hope fizzle, strike a match and ignite it again. It's like being a backwards fire-man. We're like dragons needing to keep whispering encouragement to the little flame that might someday become a dragon again if it only keeps its chin up. We're the life-guards not letting the limp swimmer keep their head underwater, even if it would be so peaceful to just give in and drown; we shove them into the pure, wholesome air again and again and when we drag them onto a bit of shore, we might even have to give them a bit of our own breath to get their lungs pumping again. I don't mean a codependent, unhealthy sort of IT IS MY JOB TO KEEP YOU ALIVE! I mean...I mean infirmary work. The same tender care a nurse gives a patient under her watch:

"That's the infirmary work...to make the best of the circumstances. They bring us their own despair. It is our job to steal them a crumb of hope. Anything. Anything that will rouse a man from the profound grief of his infirmity is worthwhile. There is no healing without hope. Despair is living death."

-Penelope Wilcock

I mean loving even a little rudely if it means that you will be able to steal that crumb of hope for the languishing patient. I mean loving as part of the body of Christ: strengthening the weak knees and the hands that hang down. I mean responding to the hue and cry of desperate trumpets and doing what you can bit by bit to ease the way in love for these faltering brothers and sisters who are so precious to us:

"The work is great and extensive and we are separated far from one another on the wall. Wherever you hear the sound of the trumpet, rally to us there. Our God will fight for us." -Nehemiah 4:19-20

Jesus is the doctor. I'm the nurse. I can't heal but I can minister, soothe, love. And if the love that I can give is just crumb-stealing, why, even the weakest, clumsiest one of us can do that.

Lord, let Your love shine through me and soothe these frail souls. Give me grace and wisdom in how best to cup the flame of Your hope that is flickering in the torrential downpour of griefs and sorrows in these sweet lives. Let me not focus on my own clumsiness, but on the skill of Your hands, and fight for these, Your people. Amen.