Love {without expectations}

I have been praying lately for the capacity to love. Just love. To love freely without expectation. To love like Jesus. To love others more than myself because it's the slightest expectation that can cause so much disappointment. Expectations are like toxic parts of our flesh vying to be fed, to be acknowledged.

I wanted today to be different. I didn't want to be disappointed. I prayed specifically that I could be content, even if my family didn't honor me on this day meant to celebrate mothers. So, even when I found out that my husband had sent texts to our boys days ago to ask them what they wanted to do for me, and nether of them responded, I was thankful that the waves of disappointment didn't come. Those waves have overwhelmed me in the past.

I got up early and put on make-up and a pretty dress. I drove to Trader Joe's for flowers. It had been a few months since I had visited Bernice, who never married or had a family of her own, and the other ladies who lived in the care facility next to church. I felt guilty for not visiting sooner. Feathered pink tulips in hand, I walked to the door. Miss Debbie, the caregiver who works on Sundays, hollered for me to come in. She was busy with one of the new residents, but soon came to the hallway where we chatted and she gave me updates on everyone.

Hilda, a sweet lady in her late 90's who always wanted the Bible read to her, had declined over the past few months. She was propped up in her bed and had just finished some oatmeal. I greeted her and reintroduced myself because she had no recollection of me this time. She held out her hand and I gently took hold of it. Her gray eyes reminded me of my grandmother's. She asked me where she was and I told her that she was at her home. She then said something that I wasn't prepared to hear. She said, with obvious pain, "No one wants me." I responded that of course that wasn't true. I reminded her of her daughters. Two of them, I think. But as I glanced at her dresser, I saw mother's day flowers that were already starting to wilt. She felt alone. She felt unloved.

And my heart broke into pieces and tears threatened to spill over as I desperately wanted her to know the truth. I leaned in closer, because I needed to know she could hear what I was about to choke out: "Hilda, remember when you told me you talked to God when you looked outside towards to trees? Well, God hears you. He loves you. He wants you. He knows when you're sad. And He promises to never leave us. So, you are always wanted and never alone."

I hoped her heart had heard. I hoped her weary soul could feel Jesus' embrace. Her eyes closed. She was still gripping my hand when she asked where she was going. I asked her if she had plans to go somewhere. When she answered that she didn't know, I knew what she needed to hear. "Heaven," I said reassuringly. "You're here now but heaven awaits you." Those words seemed to appease her. With her eyes still closed, she breathed deep, and let go of my hand.

As I walked to church, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and sadness. Gratitude to God for loving us and redeeming us, but an aching for those who are hurting. For those who are broken. For those who have been (or are being) exploited. For all who feel worthless. For those who feel ashamed because of the abuse they've incurred. For those who feel like they don't belong. For the people we refuse to call our neighbors. Lord, have mercy.

Help me (us) to love the hurting, the broken, the exploited, the abused, the outcasts, and those deemed unlovable.

Amen.