Valentine’s Day is a day I do not and have not ever cared for. I propose it is the commercialism that mostly drives me away, or perhaps the fact I have been single most of my existence. Nonetheless, it is not a day on my iCalendar or radar in general.
Yet, with all the buzz building up to this day, I still find myself dragging out the word “love” and examining it once again. It is not like I haven’t been examining it my entire life, but this 4-letter word (take that how you will) is extremely complex and undefinable.
Love is a boggling word.
Love is a sensational word.
Love is a moving word.
Love is an enticing word.
Love is a word that is consistently calling me.
My heart is restless. It has been for as long as I can remember. It resides in this place between “I wish” and “almost” but not any further extreme. It always sits inside of me perpetually talking. It never shuts up. It can’t. It’s teleological. It is always functioning with a forward purpose. It is permanently in drive.
Isn’t that what being restless is though, that I am in constant unsettled motion? But my restlessness and the true intention of my heart’s movement are not in parallel, because I feel conflict. Conflict leaves no peace, but a continual examination of friction and an inclination to honestly say that something just ain’t right.
But how do we get our restlessness true north, like our hearts are naturally true north? How do we align the compass? It feels as though it is a theme of human versus spiritual. And why does Romans so precisely address this?
“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate, I do.”
At the heart of both you and I is a great desire to love. Not just to love, but love well. There is even a greater desire to be loved, but on earth, this has to come at the price of imperfection. You and I are not perfect, and in this present lifetime, we will never be perfect. So, we have to relinquish to the universal fact that imperfection will be with us until death.
Imperfection is so difficult! We have to face the fact that we don’t get things right.
I’ve suffered imperfection as both a giver and receiver.
Others have loved me well, and others have loved me horribly.
I’ve loved others well, and I’ve loved others horribly.
All with a root of imperfection.
In the imperfection, restlessness is born. There is this vast canyon of “not quite.” It is like watching a sunset. You are moved into this transcendent state that you can’t capture with words or feelings—but are transported beyond words. That is love. Love is this concept that is so far beyond my capacity of discernment, that I am not remotely capable to capture what its precise meaning is. Love is this untouchable part of creation, that even in the midst of not understanding it, creates peace. It is only when I begin to attempt to walk in it, capture and copy it, the restlessness invades.
I still despise Valentine’s day. Perhaps the blame isn't all due to the commercialism, but maybe it’s because I greatly sense love, but can’t capture it. Not how I want to. Not how I desperately try to. Maybe it is because of the “how I want/try to” that leaves me parched and restless.
While I sit in the friction, I have to accept the restlessness, because I am imperfect. It will not be until the restlessness discovers true north that my conflict will be no longer. Perhaps true north is relinquishing my control? Perhaps it is moving beyond the “I wish?” Maybe it just that my true north isn’t here on earth, but something beyond the natural and part of the supernatural?
My heart is restless, but it is alive. I know it is alive because something keeps calling it.
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