romance in the trees

A "romantic," or "romanticist," is defined as someone who indulges in excessive sentimentality. I am a self-proclaimed romanticist. I always have been and always will be. I don't really like the word "excessive" in the definition, but it is accurate at times. It wasn't until I went to college though that I learned exactly I am what kind of romantic I am. I figure there is the typical romantic that does stuff on anniversaries and special occasions. There's the casual romantic that will show up with flowers when he hasn't done something wrong and it's not an important date. And there's the Romanticist that constantly dreams up moments and events to make the other person feel special. I fall into a lesser-known sub-category we'll refer to as "tragic romantic."

This condition has so been defined by my best-friend and I as being romantic to a fault. More often than not, it is simply out of a desire to serve others and for that look in their eyes when the perfect moment is created or a great surprise is pulled-off. To give a couple of examples that he and I have been a part of: showing up at UGA with a bag full of elementary-school-styled Valentines and candy hearts for a hall of girls and then taking all of them out for a V-Day dinner, driving 3.5 hours to surprise someone with flowers and asking her to formal, writing someone a letter for everyday that you're apart, writing verses and verses of poetry. He and I also helped imagine and create five of our good friends' engagements - think hundreds of candles and rose petals for each one. Having discussed recent life events with him though, we've discovered that all of this really spurs from how we love. I know no other way to love than with everything I have. Herein lies the beautiful tragedy.

Most would call a love like that wonderful and some would probably say that it is the only way it should be. But it is like climbing out on a low limb of an old tree - it starts off strong and sturdy, but the further out you go the thinner the branch gets. Loving like that automatically places you on a perilous edge that when the branch finally breaks, or your footing becomes unsteady, you fall - plummeting like a goose picked-off in mid-flight.

Over the past several months, I've climbed all the way out to the very end of my branch. I didn't want to, but God was beckoning. I was scared at first, but after a while I followed without looking down. I reached the end, knew it, and stepped off. What I hadn't realized was that God was slowly bending the branch so that the last step was little more than a stumble instead of an experiment on atmosphere re-entry. I've learned a lot climbing trees.

I Peter 1:6-7 ". . . though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith . . . may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed."