Love. I wanted it. I needed it. I was starved for it. I was a five. This is the thought that grips my heart as I step outside into the cold, locking the front door behind me. Because today is Saturday, I am able to start my 7-mile run in semi-dawn – about the time the sun is lazily yawning awake along with the rest of the neighborhood. It’s not as brisk as it’s been, but my 47-year old body feels unusually creaky this morning. If all goes well, this should pass around the start of my second mile. As I stretch out my stride and roll my shoulders, my thoughts return to the image of my five-year-old self. As always, it’s as if the child in my mind’s eye is not me at all, but a lost little girl for whom I feel great pity. I haven’t seen this little girl in a while, so I know it will be an interesting run this morning as I head up and down the Titan Hills.
My five-year-old self is always alone and very shy. Thankfully, for her and for me, the child often seems to travel through the filmstrip of my mind with my Nana – who has always protected this little girl and continues to bless my memories. To me, Nana was perfect and was the only example of unconditional love I have ever experienced – loving me at my worst and loving me at my best. But, I think she secretly loved me the most when I was a sweaty, disheveled mess. I was her one and only ragamuffin girl. It was a glorious term of endearment because it meant that even though I was imperfect, she still loved to hold my dirt-smudged face in her hands and gently kiss my nose and my cheeks and my forehead. I was her beloved mess.
But as I run along the snowy sidewalk, Nana’s character fades, for she wasn’t there when my five-year-old self learned about trying to force someone, or something, to love you. Her sweet face is replaced with the image of a chronically-frightened little girl hiding in the corner between the couch and the TV watching her horrified mother staring down at her bloodstained white uniform. I rewind, trying to shake off the image as I run quickly across the street. After a few strides, I settle back into my pace. You see, when I was in kindergarten, we had an all-white Siamese cat named Snowball. Snowball was always afraid – running away and hiding from everyone. But, I adored that cat and wanted her to adore me back. I wanted her love and her comfort so badly, so when I would come out of my own hiding, I did everything I could to coax Snowball to come out of hers. My dream was that we would love and protect each other – and together we would no longer be afraid. But,Snowball resisted my love and affection too.
So one morning, feeling unusually desperate to be wanted, I cornered Snowball before school and finally, finally succeeded in picking her up and holding on tight. I remember hugging her so hard and so long. “Oh Snowball, don’t run. Stay and love me. I need you to love me.” It was a remarkable feeling to think that now Snowball would finally love me back. I feel her stop squirming and surrender to me. But, the reality was that I had hugged her with such longing that I broke her front leg. It was a compound fracture that bled all over my mother’s white uniform when she lifted up the immobile cat to examine her injuries. At that moment, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t scared about being punished by my parents. This time, I hid and wept in shame and sadness because I had hurt the one thing that I loved more than anything – just by loving it with all my might and not wanting to let go.
My pace is too fast as I over-stride down the third Titan Hill, but I realize this is just a feeble attempt at running away from one more painful reminder of a past life. I have no memory of Snowball after that horrible morning. But the recurring image of my five-year-old self hiding as my mother cleaned the blood from her uniform never fades. Then, about six months ago, I miraculously found relief as I finally understood what I learned from this little girl and her unquenchable need for Snowball’s love. And, what I learned about that moment has everything to do with the grace of God.
While I could claim that I run to escape, quite honestly I know now that I run to reflect, to repent, and to rejoice. I’d miss so much if I ran away from it all because I truly believe there is something poignantly beautiful about the human experience – from its brilliance to its brokenness. It’s not until we can really experience the glory and the grief, that we come to see the pure grandeur of God.
The memory of Snowball helps me see God’s work here on the ground – illustrating the theology between law and Gospel. We will never get the love we want by demanding it. Telling anyone to “love me” does not have the power to change the human heart, nor did it have the power to change the heart of a frightened feline. The power is in saying “I love you” and meaning it no matter what you get in return. We get the love we want by loving.
It’s taken me a long time, and many failures, to learn that we shouldn’t have to fight to hold onto love – if it’s the right love. I still hug tightly, but now I know when to let go. I will do my best to remember this lesson from Snowball in my relationships with my children, with my friends, and certainly with God. After years of chasing Him down and demanding something in return, I now finally understand. I cannot hold onto God and force Him to stay and love me because He’s already right here loving me with no strings attached.
“We love Him because He first loved us.” 1 John 4:19.
