Everything I know about love I learned when I was pushed down on the playground in third grade. I fell hard. I don’t remember who pushed me or why. But I remember sitting there. My knee was scraped raw, pieces of blacktop embedded in the skin. It really hurt badly. I sat there embarrassed and indignant. And I was in shock, astounded by the brutality. Did he really just push me?! It was hard to get up from the ground. I suppose I cried, but I don’t remember that part.
And this is what I’ve learned about love. That the embedded hurt from some distant fall, the insult to the soul’s sparkle, the astonishment of a slap and the embarrassment of the affront is the persistent. We tend not to forget. We do not let go. Some remnant of our psyche refuses to rise from the asphalt of childhood.
O dwellers of the dust, awake and sing for joy. Isaiah 26:19