As I type this, the Presidential hopefuls of 2016 are pacing anxiously in New Hampshire as America lunges towards another election.
As all Americans breathe in the palpable and nauseating mix of concern and hope in the air, these hopefuls are attacked from every side; at every turn, as philosophies and issues collide and, as a democracy, rightfully so.
Marco Rubio was no exception as a homosexual man furiously accused and questioned why “he (Rubio) wanted to push this man back into the closet.”
It was quickly evident that this banter between the two individuals would avail to no new understanding and this man, the self-proclaimed victim, scowled and whined into the cameras and to the media that “people don’t choose who they love.”
I completely reject that notion as not only delusional, but dangerous.
This whole issue, this whole nation, this whole election, this whole generation of mankind is operating under a modus operandi of a completely fictional definition of love.
It has us backwards in the most condemning of natures.
We don’t know how to love ourselves. We don’t know how to love our neighbors.
Because we don’t know what love even means.
Let’s put homosexuality and all that it entails entirely and utterly on the side for a moment.
This idea that we are "slaves to love" is not only preposterous it is dangerous.
It perpetuates a sexually violent and coercive culture ("boys will be boys").
It perpetuates abusive heterosexual and homosexual relationships ("but, I LOVE him").
It perpetuates families who are unable to draw safe boundaries.
Attraction, you could argue, and many would agree, is some sort of inexplicable biological and chemical concoction of anatomy and anomaly of which few of us (if any of us) have total “control” or consciousness.
Love. Is. A. Choice.
Always. Inherently. Totally. Completely.
It begins with the choice of our Creator to love us. Despite our complete and utter deserving of death.
It permeates with our choice of loving our neighbor through charity and hospitality and service.
It ends with our choice to love ourselves not because of what we bring to the table, but because of what we have given.
Love. Is. A. Choice.
How toxic an idea that all I am as a wife and a mother can be over in a moment should my husband suddenly feel differently about me in his affection.
How dangerous a philosophy that my ability to care for my children and those around me are not of my own ability and own volition but of some mysterious whim of love orchestrated against my will and the will of my Lord.
I reject the idea that to love is to be a wandering and aimless victim.
To love correctly and deeply and wholly is always a choice.
In a world view where the end goal is personal happiness and satisfaction the problem and the solution is a mere temporary placating of whims.
In a world view where the end goal is communal and holy joy and purpose the problem and the solution is following the word and will of God.
It has nothing to do with whim / "love."
It has everything to do with choice.
The easy and cheap answer is I love you because I feel it.
The hard answer is I love you because I choose it.
I am in a happy, stable, hard, confusing, challenging, wonderful, messy marriage.
I am here because I choose it. Every day. I choose him. I choose me. I choose us.
Regardless of my ever changing whim. Regardless of my "love meter." Regardless of "attraction."
Our inclination to move forward in our view of love should not include abandoning the ship of personal responsibility and the scapegoating of our ever fluctuating hormones and desires.
I didn't "get lucky" and "get wired" from day one with all the "right" hopes and dreams and desires.
I didn't know anything about love.
Through the power of the cross Love came and got me.
I will choose to live the rest of my life as an expression of that Love.
The real Love.
The choice Love.
The He-didn't-have-to-but-He-did Love.
That's what I want.
And, I believe, if you really think about it, and you're really honest about it, that's what you really want too.
You aren't worthy of cheap love.
You are worthy of pricey love.
The kind of love that chose to climb up onto a cross and die for you.
That's my Love. That's my Jesus.