The Giver

I detest fads.

I abhor trends.

I wretch at the sound of buzzwords.

I’m sitting here scribbling with The Fellowship of the Ring in the background after a day of doing nothing but pray, play guitar, chug orange juice, and laze about.  I practiced a few songs, but I didn’t sing.  I’m getting over a cold.  Anyways.

I’ve noticed something recently.  And, by recent, I mean within the past 3 months.  Since finishing CYE, I’ve definitely become increasingly self-aware.  I find this incredibly helpful in the way of dealing with and tempering my own behavior and learning about others. 

It began, I think, as most of these things do, with a standardized test.  Where, you might ask?  Well, over at Catholic Match which, by the way, I do not endorse.  It’s full of creepers, psychotics, liars, and lukewarm Catholics (some of you might be thinking that I’d fit right in).  *shudder* It’s not a great place for me to meet my spouse, I’ve decided, after encountering a few horror stories.  Ick.  I’ve always had a steadfast aversion to “online dating,” but after my uncle, a handful of friends, and TWO PRIESTS recommended it, I figured, ah, what the hell?

Well, it was hell.  I’ll never do that again.  I wish I could post what I had on my profile.  It was quite hilarious, and holy, and challenging, and intimidating.  Made of the stuff of any online-junkie’s nightmares.  ESTO VIR!  Mwahahahah.

Anyways.  One of the perks was that I got to take a temperament test, and that’s when I found out that I am a melancholic/choleric.  The next (my second) summer with CYE and Sister really confirmed it.  I’ve always wanted to read more about it, but I couldn’t find any books.  If you’ve any recommendations, please let me know.  However, what’s out there (ie, wikipedia, etc) is SPOT ON.  And what do I do with things that are SPOT ON?  I pay attention.  It’s truth, and, for lack of a better phrase, it just makes sense.  Large crowds of people exhaust me, I much rather prefer one-on-one time or small groups of five or less, depending on their temperaments.  I need copious amounts of time alone ("backstage") recovering from when I’m "onstage" and my choleric is roaring.  I can be extremely loud, obnoxious, entertaining, and the center of attention in a large group, but things are more meaningful if I spend quiet one-on-one time with a friend and we’re barely even talking, because I don't have this overwhelming urge to be "on" for them; I can just be myself.

Ok, anyways.  So that’s been a fun road to travel: figuring out that HEY, it’s more than ok to want to be by myself.  It’s normal for me to be exhausted after being extroverted, and it’s OK to be angry (it’s what I do with the anger that counts). 

Moving on.  Well, actually, no.  We’re gonna go back.  We have to go forward to go back.  We must press on.

So, back when I was getting my secondary education license in college, we took the Myers Briggs Type Indicator personality test.  Like most who are in their early 30s, I’m now pretty much the antithesis of how I was in college.  When I was 25ish, I was an ENTJ:  Extroversion Intuition Thinking Judging.  I think I answered out of love of being the center of attention.  I didn’t pay attention to how it exhausted me because that wasn’t “normal.”  Also, I wasn’t very self-reflective back then. 

Heh.  I am now.

I retook the test about a year ago.  Surprise!  I’m an INTJ.  If you compare INTJ and ENTJ, there’s not much difference.  Instead of King Theoden, I’m King Elrond.

One thing’s for damn sure, though, my motto is “work smarter, not harder.”  I need to find the most efficient way to complete a task and then do it quickly.  That’s what kind of drives me at work- the fastest and best way.  I really think I need to look into this bit more.

Speaking of the best way, my gentle reader, have you read The Four Loves by CS Lewis?  No?  Well, go do it, NOW; it’s spectacular.  It talks about the four types of love:

Storge: affection

Philios: friendship

Eros: romance

Agape: self-sacrifice

These have been rolling around in my head for a while now.  I finished the book last spring, and I’ve been thinking, ever since: how do I show love to others, and how do I receive love?  (And, obviously, I’m not just talking about Eros here.  That’s pretty much reserved for my future spouse.  I’m talking about the other three.)

Well, Holy Spirit, Batman, because the same question popped up in my inbox a while ago.  God is hilarious like that.  And this got me thinking:  Hey, wait a minute.  Wasn’t there some huge deal about this a while back?  Something about “love languages” or something?

And I immediately shuddered.  Because there is.  There’s a book out there.  And I’ve avoided it forever.  I hate books like that.  Ack.  No.  Too much to esplain.  Well, anyways, I thought I’d give it a shot and find out the “love language” that I speak; how I give love.  But au contraire, mon ami.  Eet ees zee language een wheech I receive zee love. 

And it beings, of course, with a standardized test. 

Isn’t our society ridiculous!?

Anyways, after 30 preferential, “would you rather” questions, the obvious conclusion is:

Quality time: 11, Affirmation: 9, Touch: 7, Gifts: 2, Service: 1.

Big freakin surprise there.

Heh.  Anyways, this sent my brain a-bubbling, I already know what makes me “feel” loved.  But I know better.  Love is not a feeling.  Love is an act of the will.  When I love someone, there’s this overwhelming urge to act, and act quickly, intentionally, and sincerely on that love, or, as Mumford would say: with urgency but not with haste.   

So.  What do I choose to do to show love?  Simple.

 I’m a giver, and a persistent one at that.

 I give.  I have so much love to give.  I could give and give and give and give until I puke coat hangers.  And, even then, I’d clean one off and give it to you.

But you know what?  Most people have no idea how in the hell to respond to this.  Some people (and these people are very few and far between) can read this language immediately and call me out on it, which is pretty much the most awesome thing ever.  I love it when people can understand this language.  That encourages me to keep giving love to them.  The “problem” is that I have so much to give, and there is no end or exhaustion in sight, and people can find that a trifle overwhelming.  Most people don’t want me to love them.  They say things like “You don’t need to do that.”  “I’m not as good as you think.”  “Why do you keep giving me stuff?”  “I don’t deserve this.”  And on and on and on and on and on.  There’s brokenness, fear, and even frustration and anger sometimes, like I might hold it over a person’s head.

But I don’t.  I don’t want anything back from you other than to see the look of delight on your face.  That’s all.  And if you’re not delighted, who cares? 

But most people just don’t understand.  If I find someone interesting, my mind and heart go into overdrive.  I want to know all about then, give them my attention, learn them, grow from and with them.  Make them holy, and get them to Heaven.

Then.  Then I want them to see how beautiful they are and how much they are loved and appreciated for who they are.  And then challenge them to step up and become more of what God created them to be.  All the while giving giving giving more more more. 

“Too much.”

People don’t want me to love them.

Rejection sucks.

In the past, I’ve just wanted to shake some of them by the shoulders and say:

 

"You are worthy of love.  You are.  You are worthy of respect and affection and admiration, and, by God, I’m gonna give it to you whether you like it or not."

 

I’m not the gentlest of creatures.  Heh.  I’m pretty intimidating and forceful at times.  I’m trying to work on that.  But, most can’t handle it, so they leave.

It’s such a pity.  Of course, Satan has a field day with this and makes me turn back in on myself, but right now none of that is happening, so I can reason clearly.

The ones who can handle the deluge at the beginning learn that it tapers off a little (as my zeal wanes a bit), but it’s still there.  And it might show up in random, overwhelming bursts.  When I love someone, I’m suddenly reminded of that person and how something would fill them with delight, and then BAM, I’m doing that.

I love checklists.

Examples:

Early on in our friendship, one of the questions that I will undoubtedly ask you is, “What’s your favorite color?”  Seems trite, I know, but it’s crucial.  I’m assured that (pretty much), no matter what my gift is, you will delight in it somehow if it includes your favorite color.

The first thing I usually give is a hand-made St. Michael Chaplet.  Why?  Because St. Michael is one of my favorite patrons of all time.  I love him.   And I love you.  And I want you to love him, too.  We are warriors in the same battle, and I want to equip you with this powerful weapon.  And hey, if you don’t want to pray it or are a pagan who hates St. Michael, it’s all good, because here’s a pretty chaplet I made for you in your favorite color.  I’ll most likely make you a rosary, too.  Same idea as the chaplet.  I love Our Mother.  And I want you to love her, too, even if it’s just by holding her hand when you carry your rosary in your pocket.  And hey, if you don’t pray it, it’s ok because you like it…. Because it’s your favorite color.

After your favorite color, I’ll try to learn more of your favorites: hobbies, books, movies, music, saints, prayers, food, ALL the THINGS!  And then I’ll give them to you or make suggestions to you.  This isn’t just to find out more about you, but to also find patrons for you.  For instance, who is the patron saint of swimming? (Adjutor of Vernon)  Or ballroom dancing? (Genesius)  Or photography?  (Veronica)  I’m also delighted when I’m out and about and the Holy Spirit decides to randomly remind me of you… through your favorites. 

I love to take photos.  When I’m looking through my lens, I feel incredibly close to the LORD and experience His beauty in a very profound way.  I will take gorgeous pictures of, around, and for you and then give them to you somehow. 

I will give you my undivided attention: no tv, no cell phone.  Nothing.  Nothing but you and me.

I will pray and make sacrifices for you, especially during Consecration at Mass.

I will sing to/with you.  Either along with the radio or rockin out on the ukebox.  (Being serenaded is my favorite).  Or, even better, when I feel comfy enough, I will sing the Salve or any other hymn with you.

I will start to give you my favorites, which include books, nice pens, journals, music, the color red, anything to do with my favorite authors or patrons, and these depictions of the Blessed Mother and Holy Family.  I am delighted by these things; they draw me close to the Lord, and I’ll get blasted with a double dose if I see you delighting in them, too.  Don’t use them or read them?  No problem.  It’s my favorite.  I want to give you my favorite.  My best.  So you can have it. 

I will cook an amazing meal for you just to see the look on your face as you take the first and last bites.  This, I think, almost more than anything else, I love doing.  I love feeding people.  Love it.  I couldn’t wait for my turn to prepare the Thursday night dinner at Bethany House.  Love it.  Even if it’s just pancakes or grilled cheese or caprese or MY FAVORITE PINEAPPLE UPSIDE DOWN CAKE.  I can’t WAIT to feed my family.  I love being in the kitchen, and I LOVE making sandwiches (shutup.).  I hate doing the dishes, though. 

Lastly, and most importantly, I will write letters to you.  This one, and I have no idea why, puts a lot of people off, and it makes my heart sad.

I love to write.  I’ve been scribbling in a notebook ever since I read this glorious literary masterpiece in 4th (5th?) grade.  I have an extensive journal collection, an obscene amount of Dixon Ticonderoga pencils, and I prefer to write in my journals with these.  Writing to you allows me freedom from the anxiety of speaking in person.  Not that it causes much anxiety, but, this way, I can scribble and rethink and adjust my thoughts and cross out and go back and start over without sounding, looking, or feeling like a complete moron.  One of my favorites is to get mail, so of course I want to give you one of my favorites.  I want to give you something that you can go back to after you’ve had a crap day and, after reading, say to yourself, “Hey!  Enough of this foolishness!  I’m freakin’ awesome!  It says so right here!” 

And I don’t want you to be all like, “yeah!  Jen thinks I’m amazing.”

NO.

You ARE amazing.

In your own right, in your own way, in the way God created you to be.  It has nothing to do with me other than I’ve realized how beautiful and precious a human being you are, and I want you to realize it, too.  Some people recoil at this.  It’s very perplexing.  I don’t get it.

So that’s why I write letters, because writing is my favorite thing to do, and you’re one of my favorite people.  Favorites for my favorite.  It’s one of my best and favorite things, and I want you to have it.  And I do not expect anything back, but correspondence would freaking RULE.  But, it’s ok if you don’t because I’ve affirmed you by doing my favorite thing for you.

Are you beginning to see how this works? 

I really hope so.

So now, you’re prolly freakin out like ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.  This is too much too much too soon too soon I can’t handle it.  I don’t deserve it.

Yes.  It is overwhelming, but fear not, it’ll ebb and flow.  It’ll calm down.  It’ll spring back up.  It’ll fade.  It’ll blaze.

But it won’t go away.  It’s me.  It’s how I give love.

And you deserve it.  You do.  If I thought you undeserving, you wouldn’t be receiving it.

Just let me love you.  Just let me.

When people reject this love from me, I feel more united to Christ than at any other time.  I know it doesn’t even come close, but I can imagine the look on His face or the ache in His most Sacred Heart when He gives people His best, and they (I) say, “No, no, no.  It’s too much.  Too soon.  I can’t handle it.”  Because my heart aches.  It aches to give love, and people don't want it.

We’re so thoroughly trained by the world to stab ourselves with a double-edged sword: I’m too much, but I’m never enough.  We’re scared little children who are afraid of being indebted to an angry parent-figure.

And He shakes His sublime Head at us, scoops us up, and says, “Just let me love you.  Just let me.”