As you know, our dog Gabbie died a week ago last Saturday.  She was 3 ½, and we suspect she had cancer.  What she died of isn’t really important, but the fact she is no longer here is. “I wish we’d never gotten her,” Dear Daughter age 11 remarked.  Her comment saddened me as I thought of how much she loved that dog and all the fun they’d had together.  Eleven is a young age to decide it hurts too much to love.  “It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all” may be true, but it does little to ease the pain.

This whole episode with Gabbie’s illness and death has reminded me just how vulnerable love leaves us.  When we dare to love, we open ourselves to be wounded.  Love hurts; just ask the parent of the disobedient child, the wife of the wayward husband, the man whose co-worker stole his lucrative ideas. This is an issue I often deal with as a pastor’s wife. If I whole-heartedly love the people of “my” congregation, then I’m just asking for pain.  Either someone will betray, or it will be a painful good-bye when the Lord moves us to a new place of service.  Sometimes, like dd11, I wonder if the risk of pain is worth the risk of love. 

When I was in college I had a friend whose parents took in foster kids.  Through the years dozens of children came and went.  I asked this friend how her parents did this.  How could they send these children on their way after taking them into their home and hearts?  Wasn’t it incredibly painful?  Her reply has echoed in my heart and mind for over 20 years.  “My mom says, if it doesn’t hurt when they leave, I didn’t do my job.”

“If it doesn’t hurt”, if I don’t make myself vulnerable, if I hold back my heart, then I haven’t done the job assigned to me which is to love my neighbor as myself. (Mark 12:32-34)