So there I was, trying to tiptoe unobtrusively among the mathematically-aligned
rows of desks (and failing dismally if the fretful swishing of pony-tails was
anything to go by), favouring the foot with the squeaking shoe, and counting
the minutes until I would be released from my torment…. Invigilation. It tends to make me nervous
which, in turn, makes me melodramatic. It’s something about being penned up in
a small room dominated by the sounds of adenoidal sniffing, the scuffle of scribbling,
and the gnawing of pens. And the smell of fear. Did I mention the boredom
factor?
Anyway, there I was, eyes dutifully sweeping the room like
searchlights, when my brain suddenly registered that there was a recurring
theme in the classroom décor upon which I had been gazing blankly for the past
half hour. I stopped pacing mid-stride, setting off a silent Mexican wave of
anxiety along the row of candidates in front of me. But I was no longer
interested in their troubles. I had just discovered that there was a whole lot
of love in the room.
I can confidently assert that I have never before seen so
many declarations, exhortations, and celebrations of love in one place at one
time. From the artfully-aged wooden carvings to the pastel posters and the hordes
of hearts in all shapes and sizes, this place was the Full Monty in the Cabaret
of Lurve. And it was nice. It really
was. My borderline hyperventilation slowed and I felt a surge of the warm
fuzzies that took me right to the brink of the Zen zone. Love can do that. (Of
course it can also push you right over the edge into the Hot Place but I guess every
coin has a flip side.)
So I fell to pondering this crazy little thing called love
and it stayed with me long after I had left the building. And this is what I
thought…
The word ‘love’ can be both a noun and a verb. The love I
feel is an abstract noun. It’s all about me. It feels good (which is not bad in
itself) but it’s really not much use to anybody but me - unless I choose to share
it with someone else. Then it becomes a verb. The danger lies in focussing too
much on getting love and not enough on giving it. That’s the Sparks Notes version
but if you will humour me, I will elaborate a little.
My daughter-in-law’s
family use an expression that pretty much says it all and then some: they speak
of loving someone well. That not
only covers the noun vs verb balance but it further refines the concept by
qualifying the verb with that deceptively simple little word ‘well’.
When we do
something ‘well’, it implies that we’re trying to do it right. Moreover, ‘wellness’
carries connotations of wholeness and health, which would seem to rule out
selfishness. And lastly, a well is by definition a self-replenishing source of
life-giving sustenance rather than a stagnant pond. The analogy is fairly obvious.
History and
literature (to say nothing of the social media!) offer an abundance of
cautionary tales depicting the disastrous results of loving selfishly with no
regard to the wellness of others – including the object of that love – whether it
be of the agape, éros, philía or storgē variety.
While we all
need love (although love is not ALL we need!), loving well doesn’t come
naturally to us. It is an act of the will, requiring self-sacrifice. Ouch.
John 15:13 observes
that ‘Greater love has no-one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s
friends.’ Jesus went one further and laid down his life for us before we were
his friends.
I guess that’s
what one would really call loving well.
