David McElroy

I don’t know how to love you — or anyone else.

Loving others has never come naturally to me. The people around me seemed stupid, irritating, foolish and irrational. They hurt me and angered me. But I kept reminding myself that Jesus taught me to love them anyway, even the ones I might consider enemies.

But I struggle with this more than I like to admit, because my selfish and unloving heart naturally wants to be angry and strike out at the people around me who frustrate me and leave me feeling as though there’s no hope for the human race.

And the failure of my unloving heart to love these people who seem so unlovable drives home a truth that I sometimes forget. Without the loving spirit who I know as God, it’s impossible for me to truly love anyone. Without God, I am incapable of moving beyond my selfishness, my unloving spirit and my foolish pride.

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My life has been a lot less stressful since I found the humility to admit that I’m often a fool.

There was a time when I was afraid of what other people might think. I wouldn’t have put it that way, but if you look at the way I acted, it’s pretty clear. What if people didn’t recognize how smart I am? What if people saw me change my mind about something and realized that I’d been wrong before?

I wanted people to believe I was completely consistent. If I had once said something, I felt obligated to defend it, because admitting I’d been wrong might imply I could still be wrong about other things.

So I pretended I had things figured out, even when I felt foolish inside.

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Feelings from the past can often lie waiting for us to find. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. Friday morning, the past showed up at my house in the form of a lilac-colored envelope that a woman had sealed for me 19 years ago.

I knew the handwriting before I even read her name.

I started some renovations in my house last year and I moved boxes around that hadn’t been touched for a very long time. I had planned to go through the boxes, but I never did. Friday morning, an envelope atop one of those boxes caught my eye. I absentmindedly picked it up. It was unopened, but there was a handwritten note on the outside.

“Dear David,” the note started.

It was dated June 12, 2006. Even without seeing the confident signature and the flourishes at the end of the loving note on the outside of the envelope, I knew who it was from. I haven’t talked to her for many years, but she and I once loved each other very much. We almost got married. There had been regret for both of us when things were over — and that regret was never resolved.

What did this unopened old card say on the inside? It made my heart do flip flops as I looked at her handwriting and I wondered what it might say.

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