Even When It Don't Feel Like It

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There was this song on an album my mother loved when I was growing up called, "It's Still Love."

It went something like this:

Even when it don't feel like it, it's still love;

Even when it don't act like it, it's still love;

Well, we made ourselves a promise and we're never giving up,

Even when it don't feel like love.

It was a great song about the power of the promise of marriage; that even when emotions say otherwise, holding to the promise is still love.

While it is a great sentiment about marriage, it applies to other areas of commitment too. The question being, not whether I FEEL like fulfilling my commitments and responsibilities every day, but whether I know I want to do them and that in my heart of hearts it's the right thing to do.

Every Tuesday I help some kids in a local housing development with homework, snacks, and games. And every Tuesday I experience the weirdest kind of dread and self-doubt. All the reasons not to go whirl through my head: I'm tired, I have other things to do with my time, no one likes me, and really I'm more of a bother than a help.

It's weird, I tell you. Almost crippling, debilitating

And I have the choice to give into those emotions. No one demands that I come. No one gets angry if I don't come. They can't dock my pay. I could listen to these feelings and back down.

Or I can go back to what I know, and why I committed to be with these kids in the first place:
Jesus loves children and the impoverished; by being with them I get out of my own comfy life; there is a tangible need for homework help, food, and support for the staff there; and last but not least, I love that my church even had the heart to help with a non-churchy program.

The thing is, these reasons still hold true. There are still needs and last I checked, God still cares about these folks.

And every Tuesday when I go, I am far from rejected. I receive hugs and high-fives; I see kids open up to conversation who never have before. I see loneliness dissipate; I see community happen.

In my heart I feel like we're doing some pretty important work with these kids-- especially since each of us volunteers face such dark feelings every time we're about to go out. I think evil would love nothing more than to keep these kids isolated. I think evil would love to keep our church distracted from this kind of outreach.

I would worry more that the dark feelings were true if I never saw any glimmers of light or hope in our work. But I do. Every single time.

As I think back on that song, I think that this is the power of love, of promise, of commitment. Not blind love or blind commitment, but the ability to look through the fog of dark and doubt and to actually see and embrace the truth of the situation. That even when we don't feel like it, love is still at work.