Love is Hard

If I have learned nothing else during my time here in Congo, it is this: love is hard.

The mood on the ship Tuesday was somber: we lost another baby.  That makes two so far - two little lives that could not be saved, two little lives that are no more.  The redeeming thing?  They were two little lives who were deeply loved during the days they spent on this ship, and I doubt anyone regrets loving them fully while they were here.  If you don't believe me, read my bunkmate's response to having the first little girl die in her arms, but grab Kleenex first (you can read her story by clicking here).  The dignity and love that is shown these families is achingly beautiful.  Once all the paperwork is finally done and the proper authorities show up to take the deceased away, the Deck department shuts down every office and closes every door between the hospital and the gangway, allowing privacy and dignity.  The care they show in making the family their number one priority is humbling.  Love is hard.

My new happy place is an orphanage in Ngoyo Plains.  There is little Moise, who at 14 months is already Mister Tough Guy; nonetheless, by the time we leave to head back to the ship, he's snuggled into my lap, soaking it up.  It breaks my heart to scoop him out of my lap and leave him behind each week.  Then there's Gaud (pronounced god).  He has cerebral palsy and autism, and I love him to pieces.  Often, he just wants to sit by me, passing an object back and forth every few seconds.  A couple weeks ago, I found the trick that causes him to grin overwhelmingly - the kind of grin that explodes across your face, that causes your chin to tuck into your chest as your shoulders rise with your cheeks.  There's Bozi, who raises hell with the best of them, but can quickly shut down if responded to with a critical word.  Junior is a scrawny little guy - I think he was malnourished, and he has some cognitive defects as a result.  He always has a huge grin on his face, and is the first to greet us with hugs when we walk through the gate.  There are two dozen other kids as well, each heartbreakers in their own right.  We faithfully return week after week, loving them with all our hearts, knowing that each new Saturday we are able to spend there, falling even more deeply in love with them, brings us one week closer to having to say goodbye.  Love is hard.

Our gangway is in fact a revolving door, and even the people you think will stick around for quite some time aren't always able to.  You step onto this ship knowing that there are people aboard this vessel that you will grow to deeply love, and that those relationships may only last for a season.  You jump in with both feet, open your heart, and hope that the next goodbye is still a long way off.  Love is hard.

The people who know you, who love you, who miss you are thousands of miles away.  They are still a part of you, and you are still a part of them.  You miss births, weddings, funerals.  You miss first loves and first steps and last words.  Still, you fight to maintain those relationships, no matter how much effort it takes.  Love is hard.

Without love,we are nothing and can gain nothing.  Choosing to love sometimes means recognizing that the other person has more to gain than you have to lose.  Choosing to love sometimes means feeling like your heart has been ripped from your chest.  But no matter how hard it may be to choose to love, it is always the right choice.  Paul knew this when he wrote his letter to the Corinthians.  So often, we use this passage in Scripture for the happy moments, like weddings, but it is equally true in the more difficult moments as well:

Love is hard...but it bears all things.

Love is hard...but it believes all things.

Love is hard...but it hopes all things.

Love is hard...but it endures all things. 

Love is hard, but love never ends.