A Kind of Love I Understand

A year ago I wrote a three part series on my perspective of love. A year latter I am still single which I only point out because I have no new thoughts on the subject that this day supposedly represents; at least not in the romantic sense. I may not be an expert on the subject of romantic love, but there is one kind of love that I feel that I know better than most: Familial Love.

I use to think that everyone’s family interacted like mine, but I soon realized that nothing about my family is normal. To be honest, that may be why we get along so well. We were not always the tight knit family that we are today; we use to fight A LOT and I can’t really avoid the fact that most of the animosity in our family was caused by me, but I also think that this is why I understand our family’s relationship so well.

That was the longest introduction in the world so now I’ll just jump in. I LOVE my family! I talk about them more than anyone else in the world and miss them more too. As I said before, I was not always this way. When I was younger I couldn’t get away from them fast enough. I fought with my mom everyday on what I should wear, yelled at my sister for defending my mom, my brother for being…I actually can’t remember why we fought. My dad and I probably got along the best because I was a Tomboy and so he and I connected better. If you have ever seen Tim Allen’s new family sitcom Last Man Standing, he and I were like Mike and Eve in that show. Things started to change around middle school and high school.

It changed when I grew up and realized the importance of family. In sixth grade I was abandoned by all my friends and was forced to start all over, something I am not very good at. It was then I realized that the only people that didn’t bail on me were the very people who had every reason to. The people who I had treated horribly loved me anyway. Things were not perfect after that, but they were better. My family had been trying to love me but I wouldn’t let them. That is the first key that I have found to our family’s success. We all love in different ways and we have to love each other in those ways. I didn’t recognize that they were trying to love me, but once I did I was able to accept it and then return the sentiment. But that brings up the next key.

In the last five or six years I have learned to be intentional. My brother and I fought the longest out of all of us. People in high school use to tell me that we would get along better once he went away to college, but he chose community college and didn’t leave. A few years later I did and they were right. I don’t think that they were right because “distance makes the heart grow fonder,” but because I once again grew up a little more. When I got home for break I saw my family and particularly my brother in a new light. I watched what they did and I found ways to show them that I loved them in little ways and realized that they had been doing the same thing. My brother would work until midnight most nights and then would come home and cook himself food and watch the Food Network. I once heard him say that he felt lonely because he never got to socialize because of his hours so I decided to intentionally spend time with him. Even when I wanted to go to bed and knew that I had work in the morning, I would stay up and just hang out with him when he got home from work. It wasn’t anything big, but it meant a lot to both of us. To this day I still make an effort to do things that my family wants to do that I don’t. I have danced and sung in church for my sister for heavens sake! Love is sometimes doing things that you don’t want to do and that scare you, but in the end it’s worth it.

I could write all day about my family and how much I love them, but I will spare you and only write a little more. Mostly cause I can’t ignore my sister and my relationship. I think that sisters in general have tighter relationships so I make no claim to having anything unique, but I do LOVE our relationship. My sister and I just understand each other. We are five years apart, but she is my best friend. We talk in movie quotes, she writes me poems, we laugh at each other’s pathetic love lives, and we just love hanging out. What I think makes our relationship so strong is the fact that we communicate. We talk about everything! People are floored when I tell them that I Skype with my family for an average of two hours at a time and they always ask, “what do you talk about for that long?” I usually just laugh and return with, “everything.” No subject in my family is taboo. I had no specific “birds and the bees” talk growing up because we didn’t make it super uncomfortable to talk about. If we had a question we asked and my parents answered the best they could. If some one in our family is quiet and reserved, you know something is wrong because we are all about talking…a little less my brother though. I can’t count how may times I have gone into my room or our office to cry or escape conversation and then my mom or my sister have come in and made me talk about it or just let me cry. One time I was even just in my room cleaning for a while cause we were having company and my mom though something was wrong so she sent my sister to see if I as okay. I thought it was funny, but it also meant a lot. It meant that they noticed I was doing something out of the ordinary. Communication really is invaluable.

So now that I have written an essay, I will just sum up my thoughts for you. I have found that the key to our family’s amazing relationship is to love them for who they are, pay attention to and value the little things they do, be intentional in showing them you love them, talk to them, and to grow with them. As I write this last bit out, I have realized that this is not as irrelevant to romantic relationships as I first thought. I guess in the end your romantic relationship does become your family so the principles are the same. I guess God is pretty smart like that.

I hope this Valentines Day you love intentionally and unconditionally. Happy Valentines Day.

Regret, Realizations, and Redbox

I am the kind of person who likes answers. When I read something or someone makes a statement, I need there to be an answer attached to it or I get frustrated. Few things bother me more than when someone does not do this. For the people out there that are like me in this manner, I apologize in advance because I am a bout to do that vey thing.

I left my house tonight like it was any other night. I went to a Redbox near my house, got my movie, and was getting ready to get back into my car when a man approached me. He was older, scruffy, and had nothing with him but a coat, a small bag on his back, and a little plastic cup that he had been drinking out of. Before he got could get past the words, “excuse me,” I knew what he was going to ask me. As he spoke I understood three out of maybe every ten words because of the way he spoke. It seemed as though he had a speech impediment that I assume was only made worse by the slight smell of alcohol that came from. As I dug all the change that I could out of my car I listened the best of my ability and answered him honestly anytime he asked a question. He asked me my name, if I was married, how things were going, and so on and I had no trouble answering any of those until he asked me if I could give him a ride. A ride. Something that I willingly offer people I know or have even just met, in the right circumstances. Something that I have never thought twice about before, but this time I did. So what I found myself saying next now makes me a little sick to think about, I lied. I told him I had somewhere to be. The worst part is, is that as I said it I knew that I was going to regret it, but the words came out anyway. He shook my hand several times, hugged me three times, gave me a little kiss on the cheek, and even closed the door for me after I got in the car. As I left the parking lot and he walked the opposite direction, my stomach ached. Was my preconceived notion that you don’t give rides to strangers more powerful then my compassion? Was my evening lounging in bed with a beer and watching a movie after a long day of classes more important then helping this guy in need? The least I could have done was walk with him over to McDonalds, bought him a coffee, and just sat with him awhile. But that’s not what I did. I chose the easy way out and I lied.

You may be saying, “that’s a little dramatic Miriam,” or even, “you did more than some,” but the problem is, more is not always enough. In my Bible Study last night we talked about the Good Samaritan and what makes up a spiritually healthy life. Conceptually I knew all the answers, but today when present with the opportunity to put what I knew into action, I failed. Tonight my compassion, my love, and my need to make relationship a priority came second to my desire for comfort. It is a moment in time that I regret and wish with everything that is in me that I could go back and change, but life doesn’t work that way. The best I can do is hope that I do better next time.

So like I said, there are no answers or solutions to a problem; only an anecdote. Maybe the point of this is not to tell you the answers, but to provide you (and me for that matter) with the opportunity to evaluate ourselves. Have you ever had a moment like mine? A moment you wish you could redo? Regret is a nasty thing my friends and I think my new goal in life is to stop having them.