I have gone through a lot of thinking over these past days. All of my thinking brought me to something. Let me get it out of the way.
For a while I thought I understood it. Mastered its expressions. Its ins and outs. Its curves and straits.
Yet I looked into myself the other day and asked:What do I know of love?
Lately I feel like a man with myopic eyes straining to make out blurred lines without my glasses.
I realise what I knew of it was rhyming words, alliterated verse, picturesque moments. I found I knew it as sonnet, Red Roses, golden sunsets. Dinner under the moonlight, fluffy bears with your name on it, long walks on abandoned roads.
I looked into myself the other day, I asked if this is what love is.
I saw made up kisses in the rain; make out sessions at the back of a club; Superman saving the day when Lois fell off a tower.
I asked, what happened when a soldier came back from war with both feet lost? What happened when the month ended and the job had gone? What happened when you woke up to a sex tape with my face on it on Whatsapp? What if the rose colours became grey?
And then I read a piece of writing
1Co 13:1-3 If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am become sounding brass, or a clanging cymbal. And if I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And if I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and if I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profiteth me nothing.
I thought the actions proved love. I thought the things I did were equal to love. But what I read said that wasn’t it.
1Co 13:4-8 Love suffers long, and is kind; love envies not; love vaunts not itself, is not puffed up, does not behave itself unseemly, seeks not its own, is not provoked, takes not account of evil; rejoices not in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believeth all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails :
I noticed there was something called love that was different from I. Suffer long? Kind? Not envy? Not seek my own? Those are all things I could pretend to achieve but inside I saw what my heart wanted. I noticed I couldn’t. I and this love were mutually exclusive especially when I went on to
1Co 13:10-12 but when that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child: now that I am become a man, I have put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know fully even as also I was fully known.
I was that imperfect thing. That child. That blurry eye. The one who did not know. The one with the myopic eyes imagining what love was.
1Co 13:13 But now abides faith, hope, love, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
I saw in that moment, love was not me. Neither was it the things I did, or thought, or wrote. Love was Him living His life in me. I could not do it. Only Love could.Only He. I realised I’ve done a lot of things in what I thought love was.
I’m hoping that can change. I’m hoping maybe He can do it, because He would do it so much better than me.
Sorry it’s a long letter and I could have written more, but do you hear me?
In the words of Sho Baraka,
This can’t be a Hollywood romance
If that’s an indication of love, then we won’t last.
Love you I do.