I've been thinking a lot lately, about a lot of things. So forgive me if this entry rambles.
One thing I've been thinking about is seasons, and what they seem to represent, especially by way of life seasons. As we enter into spring, evidence of new life abounds. Trees are budding, jonquils are pushing up through the soil, birds are beginning to sing in the morning. Soon there will be ducklings and goslings waddling around campus. Spring undoubtedly represents new life, new beginnings.
If spring is birth, summer is adolescence. Sleeping in late, staying up late, a time for friendships and romance that can be as fleeting as the lights of fireflies we once chased as children. All too soon, summer ends; the air gets colder, days grow shorter, and we grow older. Autumn comes, and with that adulthood. A time of transition and of seasoning. A time of harvest; it is during this season in our lives that we recognize the gifts, the fruits, that we each have, and we cultivate and share them with our surrounding community, maybe even the world. A time filled with great thanksgiving, but also sorrows, as winter steadily creeps in, bringing with it cold and darkness.
And then winter is full upon us; almost all greenery fades, trees become barren, just as our bodies wither and become mutations of what they once were. But with us, with our human bodies, there is no spring. There is no time of rebirth. Only death.
Unless you believe in Christ, and the resurrection. Then you can believe that, at some point, our bodies will once again be restored, and that we will have eternal life in the kingdom of God.
Seasons-wise, we know that spring comes. And with spring new birth. But in order to have new birth...well, let's just say creatures become "twitterpated". There were two birds the other day that were so twitterpated they nearly flew into me! Hormones abound- in ALL animals. Including humans. When is it merely hormones though, and when is it "love"?
I have to admit, I have become increasingly cynical about this concept of love. So cynical, in fact, that I openly scoffed at the notion when presented in a class. We were doing a role-playing exercise: I was a campus minister, and another classmate was a student. The scenario was that she (the student) came to me for advice about having pre-marital sex with her boyfriend. Because we are reading a book making a case for chastity, I was supposed to give her constructive instruction that would convince her to remain chaste. When I asked her why she felt that now was a good time to have sex with her boyfriend, she remarked "Because we're in love". I snorted. Like, choked on a sarcastic laugh snorted. I then had to apologize, and struggle through the role-playing.
After class I explained to my professor how I struggled with the concept of love, largely due to past experiences.
I think, however, that I need to amend my statements about not believing in love. I am still skeptical about twitterpated love. I still find it difficult to believe that when a man says he loves me, that he isn't merely saying it for some ulterior motive.
But then I saw love.
I saw love in two married co-workers when he made sure his wife got lunch, even if it meant putting off work "stuff".
I saw love when my room-mate's boyfriend jumped to his feet to get her coffee in the morning, when all she did was say she was tired.
I saw love as they cuddled and teased and simply enjoyed each other's presence.
And then I began thinking.
I have felt and experienced love.
Love was when my boyfriend bought me a trashcan that the dog couldn't break into.
Love was driving for more hours than would actually be spend with me, but still doing it.
Love was taking me away for a day, or a weekend, from all the stresses of school and work.
I don't know when, and I don't know from who, but I have hope that, despite everything, I will open myself enough for love to creep in.
