Vitamin LOVE

Tonight, I have the sex talk with Jared.

Not overtly, of course. We've done that before. But gently, mulling it over in the neutral ground of a discussion about a book I'd asked him to read. It's called You're Almost a Teenager or something equally inane, and it deals with the life choices middle school kids make every day - including whether or not to stay virgins.

"So what did you think?" I ask my fidgety preteen, hoping to keep the dialogue short. "Could you summarize the book in one sentence?"

Jared screws up his face. "I don't know. Probably ... stay pure?"

"That's great!" I enthuse, pleased with his succinct synopsis. "Now, why does the author think kids should stay pure?"

Again, the deep-thinking face. Jared's wide, green-blue eyes briefly haze over, like fog passing by on the sea. "To have a better ... life?" he finally offers up, looking pained.

"That makes sense," I press deeper. "Tell me more." I know the book's author's a Christian, and I feel slightly piqued that God hasn't crossed Jared's mind. After a few more leading questions, Jared finally forms what I've been fishing for ... sort of.

"I should be pure because it's the right thing to do," he decides. "After all, I have to obey God. He's perfect."

I slowly exhale, the balloon of my hopes deflating with one released breath. This must send a warning sign to my son,  because he immediately snaps.

"Why is that so hard to understand?" he demands. "Why are you asking me all these questions?" His tone escalates from frustrated to rude as he speaks --  a microscopic monologue for most angry kids, but a massive oration for him.

Why, why, why?

His diatribe ends, but the question remains. Why can't I just tell him the right thing to say so we can kiss this pesky discussion good-bye?

Why, indeed.

The truth is, some things can't be taught - or learned - by repeating the right set of words. I long to share volumes about truth, love, and God - but I settle for a quick prayer and a reference to John3:16. 

Then I send him on a walk while we both marinate in our musings.

I, for my part, turn inward as I set to work making dinner. I realize anew that doing "the right thing" is a burden I've shouldered since childhood, something I hope my children never pick up. In an effort to please parents, teachers, and yes, even God, I discovered that DOING right felt deliciously similar to BEING right in the end. It felt so good that I forgot the simple truth: LOVING Right (the Right that "so loved the world" in the first place) really makes all the difference.

Oh, sure. I loved Jesus, loved Him deeply. And I knew (in my head, anyway) that He loved me, too. But I clung for dear life to countless other "right things" in order to ensure that I felt right, too! I was like a whore who, when presented with a respectable husband, claims him - but clings to her seedy lovers, as well. And I held on with a fierceness that, each time I encounter it even today, tells me just how deeply I claimed them as co-Saviors, equal to or better than the Christ who calls me Beloved.

What were my "right" things, my seedy lovers, you might ask? The list is rather mundane.

• ·         Church-going
• ·         Bible-reading
• ·         Smile-making
• ·         Fight-fleeing
• ·         Busy-staying
• ·         Thin-remaining
• ·         Yes-saying
• ·         Home-maintaining
• ·         Forehead-tapping before every meal

Okay, that last one's a joke. But it's no more silly than some of the things I could add to this list. Things like "canning even when I really should take a break" or "making sure my kids leave a good impression" or "never buying baby carrots."

Take your pick, fill in the quotes with anything you like, even "Keeping the Ten Commandments Just So." The silliness factor just won't disappear. That's because DOING right (even for Jared's noble reason, "BECAUSE GOD SAYS SO") never equals BEING right before God. Scour the Bible start to finish and you'll see. What God wants - wants desperately enough to die for - is a responsive, unfiltered love from His creations. Nothing more, and certainly not a whit less. (Micah 6:8, Matthew 22:37, Luke 9:23, 1 John 4:16)

THIS - this love-desire - is why I heave a small sigh upon hearing Jared's response to my questions. This is why I resort to prayer instead of preaching. And this is why, just as I send him out for his walk, I am primed to see a tiny spark of the divine.

Just as he steps into the laundry room to find new batteries for his headlamp, his little sister, Summer, appears on the scene. She's probably like a moth to the flame a potential conflict in the works.

"I wish my brother could go with me," Jared mumbles from around the corner, and I have a sneaking suspicion he's unnerved by the dark.

"Ethan can't come," I respond. "he has homework."  Suddenly, I feel like a heel for sending him out, all alone. "Maybe Summer would go with you instead?" I cast a hopeful glance in her direction.

"Go where?" She raises her eyebrows while Jared grumbles that he's sure she won't come.

"Around the loop," I respond, trying to keep the hope from my voice. "Do you want to?"

Summer's face falls. Jared's potential disappointment strikes like a tiny knife in my guilty heart.

"He doesn't want to go alone," I tell her softly. Then, squelching the demon in my head that urges me to push harder, I screw my face into nonchalance, and stare woodenly into my pot of soup.

A small pause. And then: "Sure! I'll go with you, Jared!"

My heart leaps.

Together, the siblings set out. One silently brooding over the mystery of Mom and her questions. The other blissfully free, happy to walk with a boy who hadn't even believed she would come. In the end, though, they both returned beaming - alive with the warm joy of a dark road, walked together.

No, Summer didn't have to come along on that walk. But she wanted to. Not because Jared showed himself worthy or even acted as though he'd enjoy having her. But purely out of love for her brother.

It's this selfless love that brings a smile to Jared's face, prompts him to praise her for her generosity, and inspires him to mirror that love with kind actions of his own later on.

And this is the divine spark of the night. This is how I view my faith. It starts with Love. Love grows it strong. And Love -- not my right actions -- keeps it strong to the end (John 10:28, Jude 24),

Yes, there are many lesser things I've left behind on this walk of faith -- my religion, my career, my pride (at least the top layer, anyway), my entitlement, and my claims to "rightness" -- along with my fear of baby carrots.  But the one thing I cling to still is the One who holds tight to me. Everything else just can't compare.

"I consider all things a loss compared with the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ my Lord." (Philippians 3:8)