My own told me that he's thinking about (and therefore will) move into the homeless village in Durango, CO. He found it on the side of the mountain, tents like scales housing about 150 people. Most would call it an eyesore. No one would call it aesthetically beautiful by any of our typical standards. Yet there they are, people, living people, calling that village home, or at least a byway to stay. They are humans taking up space.
My own will soon be among them. He could afford an apartment -- he could get Supervan out to Colorado and at least have a stove, sink, and mini refrigerator -- he could continue camping on his dirt patch where he eats little more than what can be cooked upon a little Rocket Stove. And I could be disgusted. I could be angry. I could be agitated, confused, frustrated, exasperated, proud. But instead I am the type of proud which makes the heart swell. I know this man who lives simply, showers rarely, and loves ponderously. In his heart he holds a hardworking spirit and a difficult-to-grasp life perspective. Within that generosity and service which I am in awe of, there is me, adoring--
Him? Am I caught off guard by him, Ethan, my own? In my love I feel shockwaves which course through me because he seems to much like Jesus. For a while that sweeps me off my feet and down the river. But then I dig in my heels and tilt back my head and see--
Him. Jesus. The God I subconsciously search for in a man, a mere man, a wonderful man, just not the Perfect One. My own is such a blessing and inspiration to me, but it is My Own Servant Lord who I'm really desiring deep within. For all the things I can pinpoint in Ethan which exhibit servitude and integrity and beauty, how much better is it for me to turn to the actual source of my craving! What I want in order to experience the wholeness of my delight is greater than a flesh-and-blood relationship.
Jesus sat first with the outcasts huddling at the foot of the mountain. Turned from the comfortable and well-to-do in order to hold children, wash nasty feet, weep blood. He wandered and spoke and loved better than anyone. The perfection of every seed I tremble to know in my own partner are traced back to that man who is God and yet still My Own from time's creation. There is so much there to explore, so much to pursue, and I know that God waits with open arms for me to put all of my heart and mind and strength into knowing Him.
If man is metaphor for God, then let my love for Ethan only ever spark a deeper devotion and relationship with Jesus, the true object of my awe-brimming passion. I never want to see my boyfriend, not even my (to-be-someday) husband, without looking far beyond. There's nothing wrong with seeking a good life partner. But I know that my soul will be homeless if it opts for an idol instead of centering endlessly upon the very source of all love. No relationship will become about any of the people involved -- it will become the chasing after of something richer, even unto the scales of the mountain, even far away from the road of other's expectations.
We notice more by challenging everything we know and learn more by looking beyond the present truths, until suddenly we love the wanderer who seeks out the outcasts, until we triangulate our love to be reflected from a higher point. Because Jesus is My Own the One whom I pursue, I will love my own better.
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