Hey Jordin – I Can Tell You Why

There’s this song that always seems to be playing – in the car, from Riley’s bedroom, at our computer, from the kitchen iDock.  Always on.

Why does love always feel like a battlefield?

Oh, Jordin Sparks.

Why does it?

I’ll tell you why.

I will tell you why love always feel likes a battlefield.

(Actually, for the record – whatever that means – I don’t really like the song at all.  At all. I don’t even know why.  Maybe overexposure or something.  I’m not sure.  Probably overexposure.  But I feel as if I need to clarify that.  But really, why do I think I need to clarify my personal taste in music?  What do any of you care anyway?  I think it’s because I want you to know I’m cooler than liking a Jordin Sparks song.  Whatever that means.  Like I want to spout off my favorites so you’ll know what I am really like – to judge me by musical preferences.  Because that’s a good way to judge people – right?  Maybe that’s a blog post for another day – my vast and numerous insecurities.)

Good grief.

Anyway.

Why does love always feel like a battlefield?

Here’s the reason.

Here’s the reason love always feels like a battlefield.

Because it is.

It is.

It is a battlefield.

It’s a war.

And you get smacked around an awful lot.

Because to love anything you have to take a gigantic risk.

A leap of faith.

You know you might get burned but you throw yourself out there anyway.

In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis said, “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

I wish I had said that.

“To love is to be vulnerable.”

It could not be more clearly stated.

That’s why love always feels like a battlefield.

It’s win or lose.  Life or death.  Victory or defeat.

It hurts.

When love is bad – it hurts.

To love someone and not be loved in return stinks.

Remember high school?

Remember every break-up in college?

Remember when the honeymoon of your marriage faded and your feelings were hurt and your expectations were unmet?

Remember when your best friend said that one thing/ did that one thing/ broke that one promise?

That hurts.

It’s a battlefield.

Even when love is good – it hurts.

Remember leaving home for the final time?  (College, marriage, new apartment, whatever.  You wanted that freedom from mom and dad but it hurt a little to be set free too.)

Remember saying goodbye to a grandparent for the last time?

Remember moving away from family or friends to a new job, a new state, a new something?

Remember the first time your own baby walks away from you, waves goodbye at the school bus, spends the night at a friend’s house?

It’s love.

Your heart is crazy-overflowing-full of it.

But it hurts.

It’s a battlefield.

And if you decide to play,

if you decide to risk,

if you decide

to love

you have

just decided

to be hurt.

You cannot escape the fate of that choice.

You cannot

choose love

and

be safe.