This Little Light of Mine

WHAT DRS. SMALLEY, TRENT AND KING TAUGHT ME ABOUT CHOOSING LOVE

“Love is more than a feeling. It is a choice.” I read these words years ago in Love Is a Decision, by Drs. Gary Smalley and John Trent. The book explains how to enrich your marriage and family through this simple principle. Though I had neither a spouse nor children at the time, the lesson stayed with me.

 Love is a choice. A choice that applies to anyone to whom we are tied – and whether we recognize it or not, we are tied to everyone. Because we are of God, and God is Love. When we choose love, we honor our true nature and the divine threads that connect us to all creation.

 It's easy to recognize this truth, writing in peaceful silence with only my adorable dog, Sombra, for company. Far more challenging when confronted with the hassles of daily life and especially with other humans who look, think, talk, act, do everything differently than me. Whether with family members, friends or strangers, I often reflexively choose judgment over love. I focus on behavior in another that I find lacking, certainly less “right” than mine. I mentally separate them from me and thus obscure those connecting threads.

I picture these threads as countless strands of tiny lights. Like twinkling Christmas tree lights, spooling out from me to everyone around me. But unlike traditional tree lights, these strands always have the power to light. You never have to search for the single burnt out bulb causing the whole strand to go dark.

Because we are all of God, our connecting strands are infinite, indestructible – and always ready to shine. When I choose love toward any person, I send powerful current down those strands of light between us.

Recently my youngest son, Charlie, was playing at the park. He and one of his friends got into a huff. The boy went off and sat by himself in angry silence. I suggested Charlie go over and talk to him.

“No. He yelled at me to leave him alone,” he said.

“Okay, but he’s going to be with you all day, so I recommend you try and mend things,” I said. “Let’s go over there.”

I’m a meddling mom and probably should have stayed out of it, but I could see the divide and felt like they needed help bridging it. We walked over, sat down and started to talk through what happened. I don’t remember the irrelevant details, but they mirrored what tends to separate any one of us.

Each believed the other acted in an unfair, wrong way. Each was invested in his own rightness, and both chose to be offended as a result. Standard human altercation, complete with finger pointing and self-righteous insistence.

I took a breath and said the only thing that came to me, “Look, neither of you is going to agree on who’s right in this situation, but it doesn’t matter. You’re friends. You care about each other. Can you focus on that instead and put this misunderstanding behind you?”

Begrudgingly they agreed they could, shook hands, and shortly were back to running, laughing and playing together. Children choose love much more easily than adults.

As an adult, I often ignore and obscure the immutable presence of these divine threads. It happens whenever someone close to me says something frustrating or oppositional. Or when I clutch tightly to small offenses those in my past caused me – the middle school classmate who passed off my creation as her own, the driver who totaled my car after running a red light, the boss who yelled at me (repeatedly). I didn’t choose love at the time with any of them. I felt superior in my efforts to separate from them, and as long as I keep these differences close, I keep our connecting strands dark.

Divine threads connect me to total strangers. That tank-top wearing dad loudly f-bombing in front of his young son and wife in McDonalds. The teenager texting instead of helping me at the check-out counter. Every single driver baldly ignoring the turn-only sign and cutting in front of me in line. All of God, all connected to me.

In every mental moment of separation, I see myself trying to push away the divine threads, like I’ve walked through a spider web and am swatting at the sticky filaments. More and more, though, I catch myself. I stop slapping the air in front of me like a fool and ask instead, “Show me the strand between us – what would You have me do to light it?”

Sometimes the answer is just to breathe deeply and send peace and love to the person. Other times, it’s to take an action, say a kind word, ask a question and really listen to the answer, give my help or meet some specific need. And do so without expecting anything in return, without expecting them or the situation to change. When God brightens my vision in these moments and I see our connection, I am the one who changes.

Choosing love can be as simple as smiling at those I pass, looking them in the eye with a greeting. Or whenever I think of a friend, family member or acquaintance, I take a moment to picture them filled with joy as though we are connecting in person. Every time I do so, I am saying, “I see the divine threads between us. I send you love and light them up.” Positive thoughts and smiles certainly don’t encapsulate all that it means to choose love, but they are a place to start. Any attempt to foster connection instead of separation adds light instead of darkness.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.” He was preaching about much more serious divides than the frivolous examples noted here. Yet even with the weight of the challenges he sought to solve, he advocated for love as the choice. Many would say the divides in our world today feel insurmountable. How can choosing love possibly solve them?

I am reminded that some of the most powerful forces in nature begin with small drops, tiny rivulets, a smattering of falling pebbles. That any amount of light dispels darkness, even the tiniest, most fragile flame. With every choice to love, we light up our connection to others. And with every light, we brighten the way forward.

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