Imperfect Love

Relationships are tough.  It can take a lifetime to encounter a person who has that natural combination of physical, psychological, moral, and lifestyle compatibility that matches your own.  Too many times, we find someone with deal breakers we cannot and should not ignore.  But none of us is perfect, and therefore, none of our romantic partners ever will be.  Not even "perfect for me" perhaps.

But I guess that's what love is.  You learn to accept your partner's shortcomings, flaws, and imperfections.  You choose to love them anyway.  And if we're honest with ourselves, they are doing the same for us when they love us.

Forgiving and accepting another person's mistakes can be difficult, especially when you have been hurt by them. But it takes an honest person to admit that they have made their own share of mistakes and have done their share of hurting others as well.  Because my faith has grown over the course of my life, I am more and more aware of the fact that I am a flawed human being in need of forgiveness.  I am not always easy to love or easy to live with.  God loves me anyway.  As I've come to accept that and truly believe it, it diminishes my human inclination to judge or even cast out other flawed people in my life. 

Love Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry?

I remember at a young age seeing that quote from the movie Love Story...you know, the "Love means never having to say you're sorry" quote.  While I'd like to think I've evolved in many ways from elementary school until now, my response to that quote remains the same: Bull.Shit.

 

Love means saying you're sorry more than ever!  Those we love unfortunately take the brunt of our bad stuff - our worst days, seeing us at our most fatigued, most irritable, and most flawed.  Which is precisely why they deserve apologies if we love them.  They deserve to know that we realize we failed them, that we regret it, and that we will be aware of it moving forward and do all that we can to avoid hurting them in the same way again. 

 

I don't care how old you are, what your title is, whether you're the parent or child, or whether you feel your excrement stinks or not....you are not perfect and you hurt those around you.  It's inevitable.  We are all human.  Furthermore, we can all expect to be hurt by those who love us.  It's what happens afterward that matters.  Do we behave in an arrogant, prideful, stubborn, or cold manner?  Do we become award-winning actors who pretend that nothing happened and attempt to conduct life as usual?  Do we make misguided attempts to erase what we've done with gifts, hugs, money, humor, compliments, etc.?  Or do we....quite simply....look our loved one in the eyes and tell them we are sorry?
 

Maybe we don't even believe we are wrong at the core of the issue, whatever it may be.  Maybe we just need to apologize for the way we said something or the way we made someone feel.  After all, if we don't care about the way we make our loved ones feel, and we don't care about making sure they know that we care about how we make them feel, how can we say we love them?

 

 

 

 

Just One of The White Mugs

My grandmother has been living in a nursing home for just over a year.  At some point, it became apparent that she would not be able to return home again.  She has invited the immediate family to take any of her belongings that we would like.  This is a strange process for me, because it feels like something one would do after the loved one has passed away. 

 

The last time I was at her home, I couldn't identify anything I really wanted to take, other than maybe one of the door handles from her old home.  They are old-fashioned, and I associate them with the house where I spent so many years having fun, being loved, bonding with family, and growing up.  They were difficult to latch when exiting a room, and us kids were forever being reminded to "SHUT THE DOOR!  THE AIR IS ON!"  Clearly, I'm not going to remove the handle & latch fixture though, as it would be blatantly obvious - even with a replacement of some sort - to any future inhabitant of the house. 

 

After  I returned home from that visit, it occurred to me that there was something I wanted, that could easily be removed from the house without effecting its functionality.  I asked for one of the tiny plastic speckled cups that, as a kid, contained juice or Sun Drop with my evening snack.  I also asked for one of the plain white mugs she had in her cupboard.  The mug is not attractive in any way.  It's not etched with the name of a place or a clever saying.  But when MeMa made hot chocolate for me in one of those mugs that she and Granddaddy used, I felt awfully special.  I'd pretend I was a grown up drinking coffee.  I remember the Nestle Quik powder she used to make that hot chocolate, and all the Quik Bunny mugs and spoons she earned us with all the UPC codes.

 

So my mom brought one of the little juice cups and one of the white mugs back for me after her last visit.  I haven't figured out where to put it or what to do with it exactly, but it is an icon of love and comfort that I will forever treasure.