Is it OK to love myself?

I’m the rope in a tug of war on this issue. Here’s why:

My adulthood and new faith experience both developed at the same time as the find your inner self, please yourself, if it feels good do it, movements.  Christian culture reacted in many different ways- mostly with a mighty shove against self-aggrandizement.

1. To increase the scope of; extend.

2. To make greater in power, influence, stature, or reputation.

3. To make appear greater; exaggerate: aggrandize one argument while belittling another.

I was raised, as many of you know, with an abusive verbal onslaught branding my mind to believe that I was not only unlovable but a bad seed.  I knew then, and now, more than ever, that I was no angel. Yet the slant I’d been taught had me battling for years with these scriptures that seemed to put grace on one end of the rope and what seemed to be only raw truth on the other:

Rom. 12:3  For through the grace given to me I say to every man among you not to think more highly of himself than he ought to think; but to think so as to have sound judgment, as God has allotted to each a measure of faith.

2Tim. 3:2 For men will be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, arrogant, revilers, disobedient to parents, ungrateful, unholy (all obviously very bad things)

Then I ran across James 2:8  “If, however, you are fulfilling the royal law, according to the Scripture, “YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF,” you are doing well.”

Well I didn’t love myself.

And I thought that was ok, even scriptural.

So how could I ever obey this commandment to love my neighbor?

In one sense the question was answered with Matt. 7:12  “Therefore, however you want people to treat you, so treat them,”

But my early experience taught only self-protection, and I had little trust that I was worth being treated any way other than I’d known most of life.

I was one confused little chick.

Then I experienced both Grace and Truth together in the salvation experience of Rom. 5:8 But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

I finally more than got it – and knew with certainly that I was truly loved.  Now I had something to pass on to others.

Strong’s Concordance became dear as I searched the original meanings behind my questions.  That little word “love” had so many nuances, n this verse it derived from an obsolete, seldom used form of etheleo, eth-el-eh´-o, - to determine, to incline myself toward, to choose to prefer others (put them first), to intend to, to delight to, be disposed to please…

It confirmed what I’d known.  I could not previously shared what I did not have.

But wait!  I was not “just” to share this with my neighbor. I was to experience it, and revel in it myself (so that) I would be able to share it.

Am I making sense?  If I had just gone off and loved my neighbor as I loved myself at the time (even though I had recently begun a personal relationship with the Lord), it could not have been what God intended.  How could I love others in truth before I had an idea of what love was? I needed to accept God’s love, soak in it, experience it, and fill up with it, so it would overflow naturally.

I had my first answer.

YES! It not only was ok to love myself, God wanted me to love  who he loved (myself).  God commanded me to love myself (his creation).

This Little Light of Mine

As a grandmother, you’d expect it from me, I know. To hear me tell you that my grandson was the best, the bravest, the inspiration to us all, does not surpriseanyone. Even our David would rollhis eyes at Gramma’s praise – for what did he really want, but to live, to be aboy, to grow to be a man and yes, to be a Shamash.

Neither David nor I are Jewish, but those of you who are know what a Shamash is - the servant candle of the Menorah – the one that isused to light the others.

I too had heard the story many times – of how the oil was lit to celebrate victory, and the pure oil sufficient to burn a single daylasted eight days. Yet we seldom think about the candle that lit the victoryoil. The Shamash was the one keptready - prepared to light the other candles. His brother Michael was quick to remind me what Davidsaid himself – he was just a man – one who did not want the pain he endured,but one who was willing to search for and find the worth in it – quietly,valiantly.

Whether small and reserved and ready at the right hand, or elevated at the center, the Shamash – the lighting candle on the menorah – reminds me of our David. It gives me courage in our strugglingeconomy and soothes the fears of what may lie ahead for our country, for theworld, for me personally, and for those I care about. It speaks to me of what God has already done, assures me ofthe unexplainable He is capable of doing, and gives me courage to guard my ownlittle flame from the winds of unbelief.

Some might think David’s faith (and ours) was in vain, for didn’t he suffer, and isn’t he no longer with us? Others know better andcontinually testify as to his flame in their lives and now in others thatcontinues to illuminate their paths and point the way to peace despite life’sturbulence. And isn’t this amiracle too, that one so young completed his calling while even his grandmotherstruggles with obedience and living love restrained only by unselfishmotivation. So what can Ido?

I can listen and then I can speak. Softly, to fan the flame of hope in others who bear similar pain. I can weep. In joy as well as sorrow, I can weepwith others for like-experience brings comfort and living-evidence bringsassurance. That “knowing” like thepurest oil, brings health and strength from within when the clear vision ofvictory and purpose is held aloft. I can accept. Understanding the darkness and unknowing, I can accept others fears anddoubts, relieved no one need depend on me to do what I cannot, yet rejoice thatDavid’s candle has lit my heart so that its flame can spill over onto theirpath. I can give. The knowledge we gained researching hisdisease was for him, and also for others yet to live. The bonding of our heartsis a gift impossible without the mutual journey through deep waters. Thereceptiveness to others’ needs I would not feel as deeply had I not known bothdesolation and the joy of receiving.

Times of hardship are here for some and coming for others. Things will get hoarded and spoil or shared and used up. We may run out of heating fuel or gasfor our cars, power for light or money to purchase those supplies, but theenemy only conquers when hope is gone.

I hoped to carry that flame to our offspring; instead David passed the torch of hope to me. He carried a flamethat ignited the source - creating greater light than by glowing on hisown. Sometimes for me the coldwind of fear accompanies sharing myself, wondering will my light go out? Will my light diminish? Will I have the strength tosurvive? Surprisingly, I continually discover that instead of depending on myown light to guide others, every small selfless act (giving-up and trusting inthe Source of miracles for the strength) begets a flame that is fed by thebreath of life, designed and destined to reignite warmth and hope fromgeneration to generation. Left toitself, my light flickers at every breeze and cringes at every weather report.But God’s eternal light does not fail. Giving in His strength does not fail to give hope to the receiver aswell as to the giver.

Fear of loss outlines our future, for none of us are exempt. Alreadyour pension has been lowered; our bank account is smaller. Greater losses than possessions - ofsomeone dear, of our own health, our freedoms, loom on the horizon. Remembering what God has done throughDavid helps me to know that whatever my experience will be, it can also be aShamash for those in my circle of influence. I can speak the words of eternalhope. I can weep with those whoweep and rejoice with those who rejoice. I can accept fear in others because I too ran to God in weakness andfound that He will be my strength. And whatever I lose in this uncertainfuture, I will still have whatever I gave away.

As Dave shared through his 5 years of trials and pain, his questions always ran the same pattern – What are youdoing, God? What can I learn fromthis? How can I help othersthrough this?

His answers were revealed through his daily life and faith as one kind person wrote that ‘many are watching andwonder’. That example continues toenable me, as a survivor, to continue walking the carefully blazed trail. Eachtime I think of my grandson, and my remaining life, I think here’s to you Dave,may my questions be as unselfish as yours, my life a light of willing service,and above all may others see in me your gift of unexpected hope.