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Unconditional Love

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Can we talk about . . .

unconditional love.

Unconditional love is like a package that comes without strings. I arrives without asking, delivered on a breeze. No invoice is ever written. No charge is ever made. It’s so softly sent that it can go unnoticed as if it didn’t exist.

Unconditional love seeks no reward, no response, no glory for its gift. It sees the reality of a whole human as he or she lives. The dirty socks on the floor and the ringed milk glass in the sink don’t change the astounding feeling of love for the heart who has done these small worldly things.

It’s the opposite of indifference. Indifference has no soul.

It’s surrender to another the way one surrenders to music or art.

Unconditional love is patient, brave, and relentlessly disarmed.

I’ve seen it. I know.

Unconditional love begins when we stop to understand that I hurt me when I hurt you.

It’s believing that inside the happiness of others is where we will find our own.

What does it take to let go?

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Keeping Track of Our Love

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I've been thinking . . .

how some folks keep track.

Recently my son and I were talking about people who try to use quantitave measures of affection. They keep track of what we do — how often we visit, how long we stay, whether we live up to an “ideal.” People who do that compare one person’s “performance” to that of another. Then a decision is reached about who gives most love.

My son and I noticed how one person often wants to pay for the simplest favor. We both agree that not only do we not wish payment, but the offer makes us no longer enjoy the generosity of being able to help.

How do you teach someone love cannot be measured in time or length of stay? How do you help sad people let go — to put their money away?

Love needs freedom to in to fill the empty place.

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The In Between

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I've been thinking . . .

about how we mark time.

sister and brother

Yesterday way my son’s birthday.

Two weeks ago he started his first job after college.

In May, he graduated.

We mark such big events. Weddings, birthdays, graduations. Births. Deaths.

But we live our lives in the time in between.

This weekend as travel to work a project,
I’m going to remember . . .

that it’s the in between I value most,

that’s it’s the in-btween I find myself wishing back.

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If a Tree Falls . . .

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I've been thinking . . .

about that old question . . .

I must have been as small as 8 years old, when I heard that old, philosophical question,

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear is there a sound?

Even then, even now, from the first time I heard that question, my response wasn’t what it was meant to be. Rather than imagining the sound, I was immediately in the forest with that falling tree.

I watched the tree fall. I heard the sound. I thought of myself falling down. I was 8 years old. I wondered.

If I saw a tree fall in a forest and no one was around for me to tell, did it really happen?

That’s what I thought. . . . most of my life.

Most of my life, some things weren’t real unless I had someone to tell. In some way, describing an event was like making sure someone heard the sound of the falling tree. It was proof I existed. It meant I wasn’t alone.

It took precious time to retell my life.

I still do it now, but not to prove I am real. Now I’m there the first time around instead.

Now when a tree falls in the forest, I’m singing about the sound of being alive.

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Alone in a Crowd

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I've been thinking . . .

about how we can feel alone in a crowd.

I wonder what it is. Why it is exactly that we can be in a roomful of people and feel lonely.

As far as I know, it happens to everyone. Maybe it happens more to us shy ones. It certainly would seem to occur more for those who have less self to rely on. Still, I’m thinking that those conditions aren’t enough to explain how humans can feel isolated in the company of other humans.

We have a way of not listening. We have a way of not seeing. We can look engaged when we’re really thinking about how we wish someone would stop talking.

We’re kind of clumsy about picking up when we’re asking too much of someone’s attention or being too involved in relating events they find less than compelling. It seems we understand that much about ourselves well enough. What we don’t understand is how to tell when we’re doing it.

We gather together without noticing the one who was too shy to join in. We define ourselve by defining those who are unlike and different. It’s unconscious. Even the most generous of us do it.

So we apologize when we don’t need to or we rush in interrupting. We’re like pendulum people knocking around our self-esteem because our trust falters.

Trust seems at the core of feeling connected. Without it we’re lost in small conversations.

We find outselves inside the promises that we keep.

If only we trusted enough to give and receive feedback gently. If only we felt a responsibility to help each other feel safe and supported.

Fewer of us would fall down. Fewer of us would feel like we’re drowning.

Fewer of us would have that feeling of being alone in a crowd.

We’re each one in a million.

Alone isn’t lonely. Not being heard is.

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