The Confounding World: Romantic Love

Do you have a favorite film? Probably. Most people do. I am among their ranks. I have a favorite. This specific affection we may have for a particular film is not necessarily exclusive. We still hope to find a new film that will move us with the same amount of force. In short, we are not movie-monogamists.

Ask a lover what it is about their loveree that inspires their world-consuming passion. What answer do you get? Maybe, "Everything about him." Or, "The way bites her lip when she's frustrated." What? Of the seven billion souls on this earth, you're drawn to this one in particular because you like the way she bites her lip? Really?

My first crush came in first grade. Serena. And then the next year, Samantha. And then 5th grade, Erin. What compelled me to have these secret longings for these specials little ladies? Was it something each of them did? Were they particularly nice to me? Particularly cute? Probably not. Even if these girls reciprocated an affection of some sort, what would that have meant? I didn't even understand what this feeling inside me was, let alone be able to understand 'why' this was happening. All I could know was that I felt like the passive protagonist through these feelings. There was nothing I could do; I was the Benjamin Button of my own movie. This affection was happening to me. I couldn't help it.

Near the latter end of high school, I began to understand human psychology a bit. I began to understand various methodologies that my fellow gentlemen utilized to lure women into their arms. Most of the common techniques were never means by which I could embrace, so I started hunting for my own method. What I somewhat ended up diverting my image to, was this aura of mystery. If I could convince girls that I had old secrets of lore, that I was perhaps classic noirish in my appeal, then maybe they would be wooed by their imaginations of what I could be. Because after all, I was a 16 year old white boy that played trombone in the marching band and didn't have a driver's license. There wasn't a lot there, so I supposed. There was nothing that made me special, so I felt compelled to arrange my attitude in such a manner that an illusion of mystery hid behind my normal day-to-day existence.

I remember the moment in which I realized I knew this romantic love for myself. Even then, back in October of 2005, it came to me as if by instinct. I was an active participant then, in the sense that I welcomed this new child within my heart of hearts. But even so, there was a mystical (using the word liberally) aspect to the situation. I couldn't define this love. I couldn't label or organize it. It was this organic creature storming to power within me.

What makes love different from favoritenss? Why is it that the lover chooses the biting lip girl above all other women in the world, rather than just identifying certain behaviors as favorites? Why do we choose but one lover? Subpoint: I am equally confused by the anomaly of those who claim to be in love with more than one person simultaneously -- but that is a separate matter entirely -- and seems less pure, less natural, and certainly such attestations are dubious to begin with... Why not act like the movie affectionado, who has a favorite, but never ceases to enjoy what the rest of the world has to offer?

Perhaps my words read quite cynically; this is not my intent. Rather, I wish to bring to note the intangibility of romantic lingerings. Sam Keen, an author, philosopher and former editor of Psychology Today said, "You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly." Yes. I agree. I think Scripture agrees. But how does one come to find the imperfect perfect? Isn't that illogical? Subpoint: the art term baroque literally means, misshapen pearl. Intriguing, no?

Yes. Love is illogical. I can prove my case swiftly.

God created man. Man hates God. Man stands condemned. God comes to earth as man. God is perfect. God gives himself to man. Man kills him. God takes the torture as punishment for man's hate. He dies.

The story of Jesus Christ is illogical from God's perspective. God should not have sacrificed His perfect Son for Us -- He should not have sacrificed His son. We deserve what we would have received. Hell is fair. Heaven is unjust. There should not be a Heaven for us.

If God is perfect, omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent, He could have simply created a new species... a people without hate. He could have burned the very idea of you and me and us. He would be right to do so. But apparently this was not His will.

We thank the Lord for His grace and mercy. Do we ever ask why? Why save hateful sinners like us? Why do it? Why suffer the torment, the agony? Why scar perfection? Why have the only man, the one who never screwed it up, enter into sin while he stayed pinned to wood by nail and blood? Why endure the lashing? Why?

Whoever stumbles upon this -- answer me, does it make any sense? At all?

No. That's the beauty of it.

Love is illogical.

John 15:13: Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.