Love, Part 3: Patience

When I was barely in elementary school, my family adopted a baby turtle named Ted. He was supposed to belong to my brother, but as with most household pets, he became part of the family. He grew quickly, and as he became more comfortable with the family he spent less and less time in his shell until we eventually would all swim and play in the pool together.

One of the choices we are faced with each day is the decision to fear or love. The two cannot coexist. You cannot love if you fear and you are not being loving if you choose fear. Although on the surface this seems to be an easy choice, those who have known love may realize the complexity of this decision.

Love opens oneself up to vulnerability. Vulnerability is a given with love because to love fully you must allow yourself to be fully known.

Ted, our turtle, had a protective shell. If an enemy were to try to eat him he could easily squeeze inside his shell and be safe from harm. However, if Ted had stayed inside his shell he would have eventually died. Turtles cannot move without coming out of their shells; they cannot get the important nutrients needed for them to survive if they do not venture out occasionally. Obviously, the trick is to know when it is safe to venture out and when it is appropriate to retreat inside the protective shell.

In my opinion, we are not too different from Ted. People were created in the context of community; without other people we die, if not literally than certainly figuratively. But because love opens us up to being vulnerable and vulnerability opens us up to pain, then (like Ted) the trick is to know when to open up and when to stay inside our shell.

Those who have been hurt by others may err toward staying inside their shell. Those who have not experienced that kind of pain may lack the judgment to know when to retreat.

One thing I noticed about Ted was when I tried to coerce him to open up, to come out of his shell, he didn't. I shook him and tried to grab a little stubby leg, I asked him nicely and held him. But the only thing that really worked was to put him down, back away, wait and watch. He would eventually peer out his little turtle head, and then his stubby arms and legs would come out one at a time. After spending much time with Ted, he eventually learned that I was not a threat and he started to walk on my hand with his little webbed fingernails.

With Ted, I learned that the key to reduce his fear was being patient with him. But that shouldn't be surprising, seeing as how "patient" is the first word in 1 Corinthians 13 used to describe love. Maybe this is the most important prerequisite to loving people as well... learning to be patient with the speed at which they allow themselves to be known then accepting them as they start to slowly come out of their shell.