Love in the Particular
Before I had children of my own, I sometimes encountered little boys who could never sit still. These were the boys who would climb things, throw things, smash things, run around in circles whooping loudly for no reason, and create mayhem wherever they went. They were the boys that were always a distraction, always getting in trouble, always a frustration to the adults around them. And I remember thinking to myself, my worst nightmare would be to have a son like that.
Well, if you are at all familiar with the concept of dramatic irony, you see where this is going; because my 11-year-old son, Cirocco, is, and always has been, that kid. In any group setting, Cirocco is inevitably the one who won’t stay still, the one who disrupts everything, the one who never follows directions, the one who, at his recent swimming lesson, inexplicably decided to wander into a corner to flap his arms and cluck like a chicken while all the other children quietly lined up to get in the pool. The kind of kid I never wanted was exactly the kid I got, and this is how we know that God has a sense of humor.
The surprising thing, though, is that I discovered I’m actually really good at being the mom of the kid that creates chaos. I absolutely adore Cirocco, and I love the person that he is. Cirocco doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him and I admire the hell out of him for it. I, of course, do strive to teach him ways to better regulate his emotions and his body so that he can cope with society’s expectations, but at the end of the day he is who he is, and I love him for being so unapologetically himself.
Our family recently attended a camp where I volunteered to help with a science class for 5–8-year-olds, and there was a little boy named Scotty who would’ve made Cirocco proud. Instead of listening to the teacher Scotty would roll around on the grass and stare into space. He consistently wandered off and ignored our calls to rejoin the group. He turned sticks into swords and upset all the other children. Scotty was, without a doubt, “the trouble child”.
And yet, far from being a thorn in my side, Scotty was my favorite kid in the class. I got such a kick out of him. While the head teacher forged ahead with the curriculum I would go after Scotty and chat with him, comfort him when he cried, and (sometimes) get him reengaged with the activities, and all this effort created a real bond between us. Whenever Scotty would see me around the camp he would come up and ask shyly, “do you remember me?” And I would enthusiastically call back, “Of course! Scotty Boy!” and we would fist bump, and he’d toddle off smiling. The same kid who, twenty years ago, would’ve frustrated and irritated me to no end, was instead incredibly endearing to me because he reminded me of Cirocco. Loving my son taught me how to love feral little boys, and I was able to connect with Scotty only because Cirocco had shown me the way.
Meeting Scotty caused me to reflect on how much my heart has changed since becoming a mother, and I wondered if Jesus, too, initially struggled with knowing how to love the “troubled children” of his era. We read about Jesus’ affection for tax collectors, demoniacs, and prostitutes, and I had always assumed that such unconditional love just came naturally to him. But perhaps his first feelings towards such people were actually revulsion, disgust, and exasperation, as would have been typical of a man of his time; until, one day, he met a particular prostitute, or a certain tax collector, and it was only by entering into friendship with that specific individual that he began to understand. Just as doing the work of knowing and loving Cirocco taught me how to love all squirrely, disobedient boys, maybe God introduced Jesus to a certain leper, and it was that one leper who so endeared himself to Jesus that it broke his heart right open, until all lepers could fit inside.
That would be so like God, who does not love us vaguely, but rather loves us in the particular, to work through a specific friendship to teach Jesus how to welcome and celebrate the types of people that society despised. In fact, maybe everyone that God has given us to love—our friends, our family, our “tribe”—has been placed in our path with the explicit intention of showing us how to love better and bigger, in a distinct way that can only be revealed to us through the hard work of relationship with that person.
Cirocco, wild jungle boy that he is, has expanded and stretched my heart, and I can love others better simply because he exists. And I hope that someday, there will be someone that God enables Cirocco to love, because the love he had for his little ol’ mom showed him the way.
