I collect these song lyrics whenever I'm not posting, not because I want to put something into my blog as filler (God help us all) but because I think these songs, and others like them, make a point about me and where I am most of the time--and I suspect they touch a similar chord for you, as a reader.

Let me be honest--I am a person looking for love, as I'm sure you are. I'm not talking about a "happy, feel-good" kind of love, the kind of love one often hears associated with God or with Christian charity (or Hollywood). I'm talking about real, deep, honest, in-your-face, up-close-and-personal love, the kind of interpersonal compassion, care, and trust that most of us wish we could have in our closest relationships.

I'll give you an example of what I'm talking about . . .

Over the past 6 years, I have had the privilege (and the hell) of being close friends with someone I met at Texas Christian University shortly after I moved to Fort Worth. I met her by accident, actually. Her roomate and I were dating at the time, and one afternoon, she happened to be home when we were there.

She introduced herself, showed me and my girlfriend some paintings she was working on, and played the guitar for a little while. Immediately what caught my eye was the rather obvious resemblance between the way she presented herself, and an emotional self-portrait she showed me that depicted her as a woman with bruises, scars, and no smile. It seemed as if she was desperate for someone to like her--but more than that, it seemed as if there were an old soul inside of her that had too much depth and intensity to allow itself not to be liked.

I became friends with her shortly afterward, and six years later, we are still friends.

It hasn't been an easy friendship. We've baited, hated, and tried to destroy each other more than once, and for a year, I even stopped speaking to her. We know exactly what buttons to push to get each other mad or irritated--or simply to get under each other's skin. She's called me "hypocrite", "preachy", and "judgmental" more than once. I've called her "manipulative", "psychotic", and "my personal district attorney" . . . among a few other things I'd rather not mention. :)

Several times, I've told myself, "This woman is your worst enemy. Get away from her as quickly as you can, and don't look back." And several times, I've stopped speaking to her, never meaning to start again.

And yet . . . God help us both . . . we still care about each other.

So we've reconciled, and reconciled, and reconciled, and finally (thank God) decided to work on some of the root issues that have plagued our friendship for 3 years. And in my memory now, all of our fights have somehow become enjoyable things.



I know, you're probably saying to yourself, "He's stupid," and maybe you're right. Maybe it is stupid to love someone regardless of how often she agrees with you, or how well she cooperates with you when you need something, or how often you've been hurt and disrespected. Maybe it's stupid to regard someone as your close personal friend even though she's a (royal) pain in the ass sometimes.

Then again . . . isn't that what I want?

I want someone to love me in spite of myself, to love me no matter what kind of stupidity I engage in--to care about me when no one else does. Let's face it--isn't that what each and every one of us, deep inside, hungers and thirsts for? Don't we all, at some level, want a relationship with someone who can (and will) hold us, stroke our hair, and tell us we're all right (even when we're not)?

I guess what I'm saying in this blog entry is that today, as I look back on relationships that have been of deepest importance to me, I'm starting to realize that there is a certain degree of bondage in love, a degree of "what the hell is this?" or "how the hell did I get myself into this situation?" that implies panic and horror more than it does pleasure and happiness.

I suppose that's why it tends to be frowned upon by a lot of people--because it doesn't respect personal or relational boundaries, and because once we allow ourselves to experience it . . .

we

cannot

escape.



Personally, I'm starting to think this whole "love" thing is a real drag. It asks way too much of me, and it seems to cause more pain than it actually prevents.

Damn if I can do anything about it, though . . .