LOVE in a Plebiscite: The Argument or the Victim

Those who know me well know that in most things, I can see both sides of an argument. On this plebiscite, I am sitting with one leg either side of the barbed-wire fence. I’m precariously balanced – a change in the direction of wind, a bird that flies past and distracts me, a call for compassion—from either side— or a well-expressed argument contribute to pain in one form or other.

What I wasn’t counting on was how LOVE would be the argument from both sides – Yet LOVE seems to have become the victim.

So, don’t tell me that LOVE is selfish, or love is cruel. That Love has rules that fit one but not another. That love sticks to one person or group’s definition. Don’t come up with your own set of moral standards about love – about whose ideals I should or should not accept. And don’t tell me what my marriage should or should not look like.

Above all, do not tell me that being LOVING is weak – or I’ll know straight away that you have never given birth, nor held your father’s hand as he died, nor held your child’s hand as they fought for life, nor reassured teenagers that they are loved regardless of what their parents have told them, nor held women in your embrace who have been hurt by those who should have been their protector.

Don’t tell me that being loving is weak unless you have held dying children in your hands and their sobbing fathers in your arms; unless you have wandered through wards in the middle of the night to give a cup of warm cocoa, or listened to tales of long ago, or have given a back-rub and a sponge-bath in the wee hours of the morning. Don’t tell me that love is weak unless you have sat in the gutter with real women who desperately want to keep their baby but are forced to decide between an abortion or food for their other children at home.

Don’t tell me that Love is anything but kind, and patient, and selfless, and always wants the best for another.

Because if you tell me that Love makes demands or looks a particular way, or fits within a particular neatly bound book of rules, you do not know Love.

And Love is all that ever matters.

 

 

 

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