vi. The Choice

Many years ago when my brother got engaged, I remember him telling me that he didn’t always feel in love with his fiancé. “Love isn’t a feeling, but a choice”, he told me.

At the time, I thought it was the most unromantic thing I’d ever heard. I distinctly remember thinking that, unlike him, love for me would be so absolutely blindingly obvious that it’d never have to be a ‘choice’. Love would choose me.

Years later, and it’s ironic to find myself repeating my brother’s words as advice to an engaged friend. Only now, after years of my own marriage, I can see what he meant.

There are times when feelings of love rise up easily; when things are going well, when you’re gelling happily with your partner, or life is generally good and that positivity spills over into your relationship. And then there are times when, sometimes with no seemingly obvious explanation at all, you just do not feel it.

Now I know that I love HF, but I can promise you that knowledge is not based on a barometer of my consistent feelings towards him. Yes, a lot of the time I feel happily ‘in love’ and all is well. But there are also many times when my love-radar is on holiday, and I don’t feel particularly enamored at all; indeed sometimes my dominant emotion towards him is more along the lines of irritation than anything else.

At those times, choosing to love someone feels hard. It can also lead to all kinds of anxious thoughts, questioning whether it’s time to throw in the towel, or taking it as a sign that you made the wrong choice in your partner. So what do you do when, in the words of Top Gun, “you’ve lost that loving feeling”?

Well, let’s consider another area of life where feelings come and go: faith.

There are times when we feel fired up for God, willing to go the extra mile for the gospel and to lay down our lives for it. At other times we don’t feel it so much; life plods along and we might continue on in our prayers and church-life through more of a sleepy haze. But we still choose – we choose to persevere in our faith even when we’re not spiritually on fire, when we’re tired or sick, and even when we don’t feel like God is near. We choose to believe, to know, that he is there and worth pursuing. Faith, like love, is a choice. 

Probably one of the most destructive modern concepts is that falling in love just happens to you; like falling into a puddle. Films and novels can have us believe that unless we’re constantly skipping along together hand-in-hand and goey-eyed, that there’s something wrong. ‘Love shouldn’t be hard’, culture tells us; ‘it’s easy when it’s right’.

But that is utter nonsense. Like with faith, we have to keep choosing love – especially when we don’t feel like it. That’s what makes a relationship, whether with a partner or with God, go the distance. It’s when we stop choosing it that it stops working.

Ironically, I think this is when we see love at its most beautiful. When it’s difficult to love someone; when it doesn’t seem like there’s much in it for us, but we choose to love the other person anyway despite them being tired, stressed, grumpy, or ill – that’s the gritty, hard, beautiful love that Jesus is all about.

And even more ironically it’s usually when we show love, in spite of our feelings, that it really blooms. Loving actions often lead to loving feelings; a joyful side effect.

It turns out that my brother is quite the romantic after all.

iv. Real Love

Before I met my husband, I would have told you that love is “fireworks”, or something similarly Disney-esque. I also would have told you that I’d never settle for anything less than real love.

And then I started dating HF. He was kind, godly, committed, and we had fun together, but there were no fireworks. My heart did not set alight when he walked into the room, and when he looked at me I didn’t feel like he was looking straight into my soul, like we had some deep soul-to-soul connection.

I’m going to be totally honest; these are all things I have felt in the past. I have felt that powerful connection and chemistry, which I’d previously understood to be ‘love’. For a time, it caused me to deeply question my relationship with HF – I was constantly on the watch for how ‘sparky’ I felt our conversation was over dinner, and would assess and analyse my feelings every time I saw him; usually disappointed not to find my heart all a-flutter.

But then I had this realisation; that chemistry and real love are not the same thing.

Chemistry is just lust, and lust is longing. Neither of these things actually have very much to do with love. We feel longing when there’s a chase – when you don’t know if someone is really committed to you, and when you have to prove or improve yourself to try and win his or her affections. It’s powerful and compelling, but it’s not based on who someone really is – rather, it’s infatuation.

The reason I didn’t feel butterflies at the sound of HF’s voice, was because I wasn’t infatuated with him. Unlike the guys before him, I wasn’t head-over-heels and wrapped in an intoxicating “in love” feeling, because unlike them, he was committed. He didn’t make my heart skip a beat, but he also wasn’t an always-slightly-unavailable jerk. There was no superficial chase; he was just kind, honouring and loving. Non-Hollywood, non-drama.

Don’t get me wrong; there’s nothing wrong with feeling butterflies and deep attraction to your partner – on the contrary, these are good, enjoyable blessings. But the sticky issue is when we equate those feelings with real love. Some may never experience a strong feeling of chemistry with their partner, or some may feel it in the beginning and have it fade away over time, but it’s what’s left over that really counts. The foundation; the solid ground.

I had thought that an absence of fireworks meant ‘settling’. I now know that the passion stuff is just the fancy packaging; it looks good on the surface, but you have to peel it away to see what’s really inside. Real love doesn’t need ribbons and wrapping – it’s the good stuff in the middle; the stuff that lasts a lifetime.

And I’m so thankful to God for not letting me settle for anything less.

i. Lessons from a List

For our first year anniversary, I gave my husband a big piece of paper with a list of a hundred things I love about him written on it. “The Love List” seemed fitting, since paper is meant to be the theme for first year gifts, but also because it marked a significant turning point; I’d finally stopped worrying that I’d made the most colossal mistake of my life.

What plagued me through our first year of marriage, and most of our engagement too, was this haunting & relentless question: how can you be sure you’ve chosen the right person? In short; how do you know you really love someone?

Even though I knew my HF (Husband-Friend) was a great match for me, and the type of good, kind, gentle godly man I’d always hoped to marry, those questions niggled at the back of my mind throughout a year of dating. By the time we’d gotten engaged, my mind was in overdrive; analysing my feelings every second of the day and constantly questioning whether he was “The One”. I asked my friends, my family, and prayed and prayed for a sign from God, desperate to be absolutely sure. When I still found myself questioning after 3 months of marriage, it confirmed my worst nightmare; I must have married the wrong person.

But here’s the thing. While I was fixating obsessively about how I was feeling, and how fulfilled our marriage was making me, I totally missed the main point. Marriage, it turns out, is not for me – and it’s not designed to fill me up. Contrary to what we’ve been conditioned to believe (thanks, Disney!), HF is not supposed to be my knight in shining armour, who swoops in to “complete” me. That’s a big God-shaped hole right there, that no marriage could ever fill.

And whilst I was so busy trying to work out if HF was my “soulmate”, I didn’t see all the amazing blessings of our marriage in the day-to-day of doing life together. Not the Hollywood version of love, not the butterflies and rainbows, but the real thing; the friendship, the companionship, the laughs and the cries, and the silly little things that make us “us”. The real life version; the God-planned version.

That’s where The Love List started; a year’s worth of things to be grateful for, along with a big lesson – I suspect a lifelong one – about what real love is about.

If I could sum up what I’ve learned so far, it would be this: love is not just a feeling. Love is an action, and a choice. Love is preceded by commitment, not the other way around. And the measure of real love – the thing I’d prayed for so many times – turns out to be how much you give of it; no matter how you feel. All part of God’s perfect plan.

Here’s to another hundred.