Friday, August 29, 2008

The Greatest of These

Back at BYU, I was a whiz in my stats classes. Really. I don't know why. I was never a "math" girl, but maybe it's because stats aren't like regular math. But for whatever reason, I got it, and it was nice.
In my first statistics class, there was a guy I used to sit with. We'll call him "Ghent" because that was his name, and honestly, what do I care? This will not be libel, because everything I'm about to say is true, and what's he to me? Ghent (pronounced "Gent," like the first part of "Gentleman"--ironic!) was this really handsome, brooding guy. He also happened to be my bishop's son, and I thought he was pretty cool. He used to walk me to my acting class after stats, and I thought we were getting to be good friends. I had a mild interest in him, but nothing more than a passing fancy, as at the time I thought I was hopelessly devoted to someone else (and I truly was). Anyway, one day out of the blue, Ghent stopped talking to me. He sat in the back with this pretty blond girl. At first, I assumed he was interested in her, so it didn't matter. In my mind I wished him luck and then paid attention to the professor. But he wouldn't talk to me after class. He came late to our lab, would run out early, and make it a point to give me the dirtiest looks imaginable. I felt awful. I know that I'm not the easiest person in the world to be friends with (anyone who actually knows me is laughing at the utter truth of that statement), so I started the accountability march. I thought back to every possible thing I could have done that might have offended him. I sent him an email apologizing, though I think I remember still not knowing what I was apologizing for. I tried to catch up with him after class. I'd turn to the back of the lecture hall for a peek at him, but he maintained a resolute stare at our prof. And what's more, I worried about him, hoping the blond girl would be able to help explain standard deviations to him because I used to be his go-to for homework help.
Through a bizarre series of events (mostly) beyond my control, things came to a head one night. He'd left a note on my front door while I was away at a church activity. My friends came back to my apartment, and everyone was delighted to see that there was a note for me... they were tired of my moping, and sure that the apology note would right all wrongs and that I would be happy again. I really had been mopey for ages, wondering what I could do to fix the situation. But the note was not an apology. It said something to the effect of, "We're not friends, nor were we ever, nor will we ever be." It was mortifying. While my friends awaited my celebration dance, they were instead forced to endure what I imagine was the most tortured face imaginable, and a guttural cry, and me launching myself upstairs to lock myself in my bedroom.
But that didn't last long, either. Ghent's note quickly propelled me from one stage of the grieving process to another. Denial and amends became anger. I called him up, and was surprised to catch him at home. It was the first time we'd spoken in perhaps a month. I told him that I respected his note, and I'd leave him alone, but I demanded to know what on earth it was that I'd done wrong so that I might not make that same mistake in the future. His answer?
"I've tried and tried to get rid of you. You are like a leech, a pest. You're always there. I've tried to hint at it, but you just don't get that I absolutely do not want you around. I've tried everything to make you go away of your own accord, but the fouler I was to you, the nicer you were to me. But the very thought of you makes me want to vomit. I can't stand you and your niceness. I don't want to have anything to do with you."
And really, what can you say to that?
For a while, I thought Ghent was just off his rocker. Who wouldn't want to be friends, FRIENDS!, with someone who is nice? Who reacts that way to someone just trying to be kind? I was convinced he was mean and awful and terrible and that I was better off without him.
But you know what? That 20/20 hindsight is a powerful thing. In later years, I actually realized that Ghent had taught me a valuable lesson. It finally sunk in that no matter what you do, not everyone will like you. In fact, you will make some people physically sick. Ha!
I actually saw him once in downtown Salt Lake. He looked sad and awful. No, that's not true. He still looked wonderful, and just as physically beautiful as he always did. But he didn't look happy. He looked ashamed. But then again, maybe he was just annoyed that we were breathing the same air. Still, if I got the chance again, I think I'd go hug him. 1) It would make him really uncomfortable. 2) I could thank him for the valuable lesson, as painful as it was.
So what does that have to do with anything?
Over the last few days, I've been thinking about charity. Not the world's definition of charity, like "Oh, I'd better take these worn out clothes to the less fortunate," but charity as the pure love of Christ. I'm pretty sure that charity is the all-encompassing commandment. I mean, think about it. 1) Love God. You show that by keeping the commandments. 2) Love everyone else. I think those two items are the bottom-line of how we'll be judged someday, and from all the introspection, I've realized I need to be better at loving.
The love I give out is not charity, in most cases. Oh, there are a few people who are recipients of my unconditional love. Actually, more than a few. I give love pretty freely. I love to love others-- it's a lot easier than hate or worse, indifference. I'm not generally jealous, and I feel like I'm good at rejoicing when those I love rejoice. I need to be better, but I try to be aware of their burdens as well. I want to bear them. At this particular point of my life, I'm far from puffed up (that's the one good thing about being truly brokenhearted-- so much easier to be humble), but you know that part about charity seeking not its own? That's where I really mess up.
I guess that there's still the selfish part of me that's looking to be the recipient of that love just as much as I want to give it out. I don't know if it just comes with the territory of trying to love that you'd desire if not to be loved back, at least to have the love you offer accepted and not pushed away (or, in Ghent's case, regurgitated). Maybe that's the true measure of the love you give out-- loving someone enough that their happiness is what matters, and you stop taking thought of your own. Gosh, I wish I were there already! But you can't stop loving all the people you meet for fear of eventual heartache, because at the end of the day I think we'll not be judged on our popularity or our status, or how many people loved US, but the love we give out. And I want my love to be quality.

2 Comments:

At August 29, 2008 at 11:37 AM , Blogger Kari said...

You're my hero, Rachel. Way to take a crummy horrible person and allow him to teach you an even better lesson. I never heard this story, but mr. ghent should watch his back if I ever meet him. You do not treat Rachel Sego like that!

 
At August 31, 2008 at 9:06 PM , Blogger Unknown said...

This was beautiful. You have such a gift for writing.

 

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