The road everybody travels...

I have been thinking a great deal lately about love. I was in love a lot growing up. I cried over boys in high school, and I cried even harder in college. I was always one that leapt whole-heartedly into love. I wanted to be in love and be loved intensely and unconditionally.

the funny thing is, that when each new love came along, I convinced myself that whatever I felt before couldn't have been love because what I was feeling at that moment was so much deeper and so much more perfect than the love I lost. When I met my husband we talked about our past relationships (with the exception of one of my exes--we refer to him as 'those we don't speak of'), and I asked him if he had ever been in love. He said yes, twice in fact. Of everyone that I had dated, I could only think of one to put into that "true love" category. How come he got to love with more people than I did? We hadn't been together very long at that point and I didn't know if I would marry him or fall in love with him. But I liked him, a lot.

I don't really understand too much about the way that love works. I know that I had a brother that I had only met twice in my 28 years, once at 3 and once at 26. And I loved him somehow. He died a few months ago and I cried for him, even though I don't even know what color his eyes were or what his wife's name was. I know that if given the opportunity, I would have known him and loved him even more. I know that I have my dearest friends, some that I only see once or twice a year, if I am fortunate. And I forget birthdays and what it sounds like when they laugh. But I love them. And I have my memories about love and certain things trigger those and I remember specific things that I loved about specific people. And I love those people for those memories and for the lessons learned about love. And I have my husband...He told me last night that he had a dream that I died. In the dream he thought to himself, "okay, I will move on and find someone else". But he couldn't. He could only think of the everyday occurrences between just us that make us love each other, like rubbing feet under the blanket each and every night. When he told me about his dream, I thought about those people who lose a companion tragically and then move on. It is not an attempt to replace what was before. It is, in my opinion, a need to create newness and more and different love.

I think a lot about the way that God loves me and the way I love him and how different it is. This is not my attempt to be overly spiritual, but it is virtually impossible to talk about love and not mention God, at least for me. I am more baffled by his love for me than anything else in the world. If Bigfoot walked through my backyard, carrying the Loch Ness Monster and they were both abducted by aliens right before my eyes, it would make more sense to me than God's love. I wish that I loved him more. I wish that I expressed it better and that I was better. I am so human that it is frightening. The thing with God is that, as much as I strive to understand his mind and as much as I study to learn what he is all about, the more baffled I become. But I do believe that God appreciates that about me. He appreciates the search. I think that is part of the way that I express my love for him. I look for him. Sometimes I look for him like a mother, panicked because her child is out of sight in a crowded room. Sometimes I look for him like a window shopper. Sometimes I look for him the way you would a blind date in a restaurant. I have no answers for anyone about theology or denominations or religion in general. I am never a perfect example to be followed. I am a failure to many who feel that I am a "wasted vessel". But I'm kind of on the road that everybody travels. I am on a search, not for the best church or the easiest way or something that feel good. I'm not searching for a god that is convenient and lets me do whatever I want. I'm not searching for salvation. I'm searching for my resting place, my eternal solace.

In my mind, I am a child wandering through a field of tall grass. Sometimes I run, out of fear for what's behind me. Sometimes I stop and pull the petals off of a flower. Sometimes I trip on the uneven ground. But I am looking for one thing. It is a tree, tall and perfect with beautiful green leaves and plush grass underneath. It is a perfect place of shade and serenity. For me, in my child-like mind, it is the face of God. You may think this is gibberish and that's okay. You might be thinking, "God is a tree?" No-not my point. My point is that, for each of us, the idea of being with God is different. For my husband it's sitting in the middle of the ocean, on a surfboard, watching the sunset and waiting on the perfect wave. For me, it's sitting under the shade of an enormous tree, barefooted with grass between my toes. No sounds, no traffic, no cell phone, no bills to pay, no obligations. Just me and the breeze blowing by. For me, at the end of my search, that's what I want to find waiting. I know the Bible speaks of heaven, with mansions and streets of gold, and I imagine it to be beautiful. But for me, I'll take my place in the shadows of a weeping willow and sit peacefully under the watchful eyes of my Father infinitely.