My Secret Bench

Last week, I found a secret bench along the Willamette river. In all my river wanderings, I'd never spotted it before. There's no path leading to it, it's just there, as if it just grew out of the shaggy ground like the trees around it (I'm sorry, I cannot disclose the location of my secret bench at this time). At least I thought it was a secret bench, until I came back the next day and found a homeless man sleeping on it. So I guess it's a secret to me and the homeless man, it's our little secret. I'm not sure why I automatically assume that he was homeless, maybe he thought I was homeless when I was sitting on his bench. After all, I'm sporting a fairly grizzly beard as of late. Anyway, my secret bench is my new favorite spot in the world. I love it. It's magical and insular and weird. I now have a new view of little ol' Corvallis. It makes me wonder how many other things that I walk past everyday and don't even see. I am the type of person who relishes new perspectives. I like to go down roads that I've never been down before. I thrive on new inspiration and inspiration comes from new experiences, new places, new people, new benches. I also like to observe familiar concepts from new angles. Familiar things like love.

Love is like that Chinese puzzle that you can never solve. It sits on the coffee table, defiant, daring you to play with it. You fiddle with it day after day, and yet the mystery remains locked inside. Sometimes you get frustrated and throw it across the room, but inevitably you pick it up and try again, not knowing whether you're getting closer to the solution or not. And yet, it's well worth it. I can't imagine a world without love. I wonder what we would do with our time. So much of what we do depends on our desire to be loved and to love others.

I want to keep exploring the secrets of love. I never want it to become ordinary. I don't think love itself could ever really become ordinary, but my perspective of love very well could. As much as I try to figure out love, I don't really want to figure it out. I want it to remain as that secret bench, numinous, a haven from everything I already know. More than anything, I always want love to remind me of God.

It is unfortunate that the phrase "God loves you" has lost its bang for most people. It has become as commonplace as saying "bless you" when someone sneezes. It doesn't really stop us in our tracks, it doesn't take our breath away, it doesn't make us teary-eyed. Why is that? Perhaps, we don't need another sermon on God's love. But maybe, we need more clarification about God Himself. There's something wrong when human love means more to me than God's love. Maybe, we don't know God as well as we think we do. Maybe, we need to focus on Who it is that loves us. Only then, can the confession of His puzzling love stop us, slay us, rescue us, and change us.