Called to Love

She's completely unlovable, this one I've been called to love. She's been jobless for a long time, and she feels no compelling need to look for work. She turned her back on God and the church years ago, and now she worships at the church of Rachel Maddow and government entitlement. She pretty well stands opposed to everything I hold dear--faith in Christ, personal responsibility, a disciplined life, respect for others--and she holds nothing back in saying so. She calls only when she needs or wants something; our relationship exists because she has become completely dependent on the handful of people in her life (me included) who don't want to see her without food, electricity, gas, and a home. Gratitude is a foreign concept to her; she sees herself as a victim, and those of us who have the good fortune (that we've worked hard and lived responsibly is irrelevant to her) to have jobs, families, comfortable homes, and decent clothes owe it to her to make sure she has the bare minimum.

She's the most miserable, unhappy, bitter person I have ever known. And I have been called to love her. And while I get frustrated thinking of all the things she should do--look for work, act like she cares about the people in her life, just plain say "thank you" when someone does something for her, try to live more responsibly with the little she has--I've realized that this isn't really about her. It's about me--me being called to love her.

I've loved others who have been dependent on me. Like any mom, I did everything for my babies. But my babies were cute sometimes; sometimes they smiled, laughed, reached their hands for me, snuggled into my lap, kissed and hugged me when they were older. There were rewards for taking care of them. There was the husband with leukemia who loved me back when I took care of him. He fought to stay alive as long as he could because I loved him, and he loved our children. It was hard work to serve him, but it wasn't without rewards.

There are no rewards in this service. It's thankless. And so I remind myself that my back was turned to God. I have been ungrateful and believed that he owed me--that I deserved better than I had. I have called on him only when I needed something--called on him to give me something, but not to tell him that I loved him, that I desired the glory of his name above all else, that I was thankful for everything I have because it all came from him. "Raise your hand if you're a wretch," our pastor said yesterday in Sunday school. What could I do? What could any of us do? We raised our hands. And while I wish all of my wretchedness was buried deep in the past, it still rears its ugly head from time to time.

And yet despite my wretchedness, my ingratitude, my bitterness--despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing in it for God, he loved me and gave his Son for me. And so now I must love. It's a test, and I'm not doing very well most days, but I'll keep at it. And I'll pray that as we love and serve her, she'll come to see that she's an ungrateful wretch--because more than food, money, companionship--she needs to know the One who has called me to love her.