Bonnie Raitt sang “I can’t make you love me.” But can I make myself love you? Can I muster up the emotional fortitude required to love someone if they are, in my opinion, unlovable? More and more I am finding that I cannot. I am a bad lover. And it pisses me off.
I do not love my dog. There—I said it. I’m a bad person and a bad dog owner. I like her—I simply do not love Lolly. Love is patient, and I’ve got none of that for my four legged friend. If I loved her, I would count her value as higher than the damage she has done to my house. She has now ruined four pieces of siding on the outside of the house, ripped off the outside dryer vent and chewed it up, gnawed on my kitchen island stools, and no matter how many times I sweep or vacuum the kitchen, there are still these hairballs everywhere when I go to mop. And it cannot be that she doesn’t have enough chew toys. She has bones shaped like discs, doughnuts, and, oddly enough, bones. She has Frisbees, tennis balls (2 of which she has destroyed), ropes, and several squeaky toys. And I’d give her more attention if she didn’t try to gnaw my hand off every time I went to pet her. And maybe I do put her outside too much, but she attacks Henry every time she sees him and he is top dog around here.
More and more I am thinking that maybe this puppy thing was a mistake. And I’m embarrassed about that. I don’t want to be one of those people, who return their dog to the shelter, but I can’t afford to keep fixing stuff she destroys and I like her enough to know that it isn’t really her fault and maybe she just needs an owner who loves her. We begin obedience school with her next week. I figure I owe her the opportunity to learn some things that would make her fit into our family more. Maybe she can earn my love?
I really am quite ashamed to admit that I don’t love my dog. I know I’m responsible for her cracked out behavior. Being loved changes people. I’m pretty sure it is probably just part of being a created being—the need to be loved. I want to love her—but I know that any love I do muster for her will be conditional. I don’t like that about myself. I do not like that if my dog were cuddly, didn’t jump up, let me clip her nails, didn’t eat my son, and didn’t run in circles around the island constantly, I’d probably love her. And what does that say about me? I’d love my dog if she were easy to love. Augh. My heart is so hard.
If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that. In a word, what I'm saying is, Grow up. You're kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you." -Matthew 5:46-48, The Message
I’m not sure if God is intending this Scripture towards dogs. I’m not mistreating her or anything, just gritting my teeth and considering returning her if the training doesn’t go well. (But would I miss her? Would we adopt an older dog? Is it a dog thing or just a puppy thing? Can’t she just be sweet and lie at my feet, put her nose in my lap and gently swish her tail? Does she have to jump on me and the furniture and eat everything in sight?) But my hardness towards Lolly does show me a greater problem lurking in the recesses of my gunk filled heart. And quite frankly, I’ve got enough to repent of already. I don’t need my dog adding to it, thank you very much.
Before I met Sloan I lived with 2 girls in a brownstone in a hip area of Richmond called the Fan. One of my roommates and I didn’t always get along because, and I am not exaggerating here, two more different people have never been created. I love television, being loud, junk food, arts and crafts, and was working as a nanny while I went to graduate school. She read books by Descartes in her free time, ate healthy, worked out, and worked in a research lab while getting her… (Wait for it)… dual MD/PhD in Neurology and Neuroscience. I would not be surprised if she found a cure for Parkinson’s disease. She’s that smart. But we had nothing in common except a love for Jesus. Our living together proved two things—loving Jesus both is and isn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough that we both loved Jesus for us to get along. Mainly because I wanted her to love Jesus in my way and she just didn’t seem to get the picture. I wanted her loving Jesus to look like a new best friend for me and going out to lunch after church and her whipping out her guitar to lead the house in rounds of “Lord I Lift Your Name on High.” And occasionally we did those things. We even found that we both had a crush on Vincent D'Onofrio from Law and Order: SVU.
One day we got into a fight about cereal or maybe me forgetting to lock the door. I cannot be sure. My memory is hazy and most assuredly it was my fault. I just remember storming out the door to go to class so angry that my hands were shaking and I spent the entire drive to Union thinking up mean zingers to say to her when I got home. I even started to write them down when I got to class, lest I forget the bile I wanted to spew at her. But then, you see, I was in seminary. I was sitting in a New Testament class and we were about to go over the Sermon on the Mount. I specifically remember thinking, “Augh. God! Why are you doing this to me? I am enjoying being witty and sarcastic and it will feel so good to really cut her down to size!” And then to top it all off, my professor talked about how some people think this is just a call to charity. And that it is that. But it is also a description about our hearts—poor, mournful, thirsty, and the blessings of the people of God—righteousness, mercy, and to see God’s face. And that without seeking to see God’s face the rest was impossible.
Dang it. Dang it all.
You mean I can’t just make a list of things that would be nice and loving and do it? You mean I actually am supposed to feel love and you’re also telling me that without God it is impossible? Maybe the reason why it is hard to get along with my roommate is because there is something wrong with me? That my self-righteousness is unfounded? That my definition of loving her is really just an extension of me loving myself? Dang it. I do not like that. At all. And how the heck do I get off of this horse…it is so stinkin’ high.
I would like to say that I tossed the sheet of zingers and went home and everything was peachy keen. But I didn’t and it wasn’t. Unfortunately, coming to grips with my own unlovableness wasn’t a one time thing, and so my loving my roommate came slowly—but when love showed up, it was genuine. And it was freeing to learn that she didn’t have to change for me to love her—that in fact, Jesus loving us was enough.
But I’m not sure how this knowledge helps me with the dog. My roommate never crapped in the kitchen, ate the furniture, or ran around the house with my panties in her mouth.
I do not love my dog. There—I said it. I’m a bad person and a bad dog owner. I like her—I simply do not love Lolly. Love is patient, and I’ve got none of that for my four legged friend. If I loved her, I would count her value as higher than the damage she has done to my house. She has now ruined four pieces of siding on the outside of the house, ripped off the outside dryer vent and chewed it up, gnawed on my kitchen island stools, and no matter how many times I sweep or vacuum the kitchen, there are still these hairballs everywhere when I go to mop. And it cannot be that she doesn’t have enough chew toys. She has bones shaped like discs, doughnuts, and, oddly enough, bones. She has Frisbees, tennis balls (2 of which she has destroyed), ropes, and several squeaky toys. And I’d give her more attention if she didn’t try to gnaw my hand off every time I went to pet her. And maybe I do put her outside too much, but she attacks Henry every time she sees him and he is top dog around here.
More and more I am thinking that maybe this puppy thing was a mistake. And I’m embarrassed about that. I don’t want to be one of those people, who return their dog to the shelter, but I can’t afford to keep fixing stuff she destroys and I like her enough to know that it isn’t really her fault and maybe she just needs an owner who loves her. We begin obedience school with her next week. I figure I owe her the opportunity to learn some things that would make her fit into our family more. Maybe she can earn my love?
I really am quite ashamed to admit that I don’t love my dog. I know I’m responsible for her cracked out behavior. Being loved changes people. I’m pretty sure it is probably just part of being a created being—the need to be loved. I want to love her—but I know that any love I do muster for her will be conditional. I don’t like that about myself. I do not like that if my dog were cuddly, didn’t jump up, let me clip her nails, didn’t eat my son, and didn’t run in circles around the island constantly, I’d probably love her. And what does that say about me? I’d love my dog if she were easy to love. Augh. My heart is so hard.
If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that. In a word, what I'm saying is, Grow up. You're kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you." -Matthew 5:46-48, The Message
I’m not sure if God is intending this Scripture towards dogs. I’m not mistreating her or anything, just gritting my teeth and considering returning her if the training doesn’t go well. (But would I miss her? Would we adopt an older dog? Is it a dog thing or just a puppy thing? Can’t she just be sweet and lie at my feet, put her nose in my lap and gently swish her tail? Does she have to jump on me and the furniture and eat everything in sight?) But my hardness towards Lolly does show me a greater problem lurking in the recesses of my gunk filled heart. And quite frankly, I’ve got enough to repent of already. I don’t need my dog adding to it, thank you very much.
Before I met Sloan I lived with 2 girls in a brownstone in a hip area of Richmond called the Fan. One of my roommates and I didn’t always get along because, and I am not exaggerating here, two more different people have never been created. I love television, being loud, junk food, arts and crafts, and was working as a nanny while I went to graduate school. She read books by Descartes in her free time, ate healthy, worked out, and worked in a research lab while getting her… (Wait for it)… dual MD/PhD in Neurology and Neuroscience. I would not be surprised if she found a cure for Parkinson’s disease. She’s that smart. But we had nothing in common except a love for Jesus. Our living together proved two things—loving Jesus both is and isn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough that we both loved Jesus for us to get along. Mainly because I wanted her to love Jesus in my way and she just didn’t seem to get the picture. I wanted her loving Jesus to look like a new best friend for me and going out to lunch after church and her whipping out her guitar to lead the house in rounds of “Lord I Lift Your Name on High.” And occasionally we did those things. We even found that we both had a crush on Vincent D'Onofrio from Law and Order: SVU.
One day we got into a fight about cereal or maybe me forgetting to lock the door. I cannot be sure. My memory is hazy and most assuredly it was my fault. I just remember storming out the door to go to class so angry that my hands were shaking and I spent the entire drive to Union thinking up mean zingers to say to her when I got home. I even started to write them down when I got to class, lest I forget the bile I wanted to spew at her. But then, you see, I was in seminary. I was sitting in a New Testament class and we were about to go over the Sermon on the Mount. I specifically remember thinking, “Augh. God! Why are you doing this to me? I am enjoying being witty and sarcastic and it will feel so good to really cut her down to size!” And then to top it all off, my professor talked about how some people think this is just a call to charity. And that it is that. But it is also a description about our hearts—poor, mournful, thirsty, and the blessings of the people of God—righteousness, mercy, and to see God’s face. And that without seeking to see God’s face the rest was impossible.
Dang it. Dang it all.
You mean I can’t just make a list of things that would be nice and loving and do it? You mean I actually am supposed to feel love and you’re also telling me that without God it is impossible? Maybe the reason why it is hard to get along with my roommate is because there is something wrong with me? That my self-righteousness is unfounded? That my definition of loving her is really just an extension of me loving myself? Dang it. I do not like that. At all. And how the heck do I get off of this horse…it is so stinkin’ high.
I would like to say that I tossed the sheet of zingers and went home and everything was peachy keen. But I didn’t and it wasn’t. Unfortunately, coming to grips with my own unlovableness wasn’t a one time thing, and so my loving my roommate came slowly—but when love showed up, it was genuine. And it was freeing to learn that she didn’t have to change for me to love her—that in fact, Jesus loving us was enough.
But I’m not sure how this knowledge helps me with the dog. My roommate never crapped in the kitchen, ate the furniture, or ran around the house with my panties in her mouth.
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