A few days ago I was talking to a new friend of mine here in Maine. We were at the library because she was helping me with a program we (Team Long Run) have just started that encourages kids to read and run over the summer. My friend was picking out books for her two kids and when we came across the Madeleine L’Engle books ( A Wrinkle in Time, etc.) I mentioned her book on creative practice. My friend said she would like to read that so when I got home I pulled it off my shelf. It fell open to the above quote and I sat down to read a bit of that section. I remembered when I had first read that and how it had caused me to think, – hard. In the story L’Engle is walking with a young friend, Cynthia, and they are discussing how the things that really matter in life, the “most important questions,” as she puts it, “do not have – or need – answers.” (A Circle of Quiet, p. 45)

Hmmm.

I can tell when something I read or experience is important to me, is something I should pay attention to, because months or years later I will still remember it; still be interested in the questions it raised.

This idea of love being a policy, not an emotion or feeling, really intrigues me. Here’s an example from my recent teaching.

I was working with a child who might be considered “difficult”. He was certainly being difficult. At one point he was so uncooperative that I had to get up and leave the room. The last thing I felt was love. Anger, frustration, self pity – a big yes to all of those. I knew I had to find a moment to breath, to pull myself together. Fortunately, there was another teacher in the room so I went back and told him I needed a moment. He nodded. (Teachers know when that is the best choice.)

I walked to another part of the school and found a quiet corner. I was still fuming. The opening quote came to mind – sort of. The concept that even if I didn’t feel love or kindness, or even empathy, for this child at that moment I had to pull myself together, I had to decide which road I was going to take. I knew that going back in a state of anger was not acceptable. I knew I had to find a modicum of peace, but how?

There were no lightning bolts or audible directions from a higher power, but I did realize I had a choice, and that alone seemed an answer to my prayers for grace. Honestly, it didn’t feel like I had a choice. It felt like the choice had been made for me, by the student. But, of course, that was not true. How I responded to his actions was under my control; it had always been my choice.

Once, many years ago, I was a counselor in a women’s college dormitory. One young woman had decided to leave campus for days on end without telling anyone. It was my first week on the job and I was both frantic and furious. When she finally reappeared, I angrily told her we needed to have a talk. As I was waiting for her to arrive (or not ) my husband walked into the room. He rarely gives me advice, but I think he could sense I was about to blow my one chance to ever connect with this young person. He said, “Remember, you’re the grown up, – and give her a chance to explain.”

I did, and we were able to have a strong friendship for many years. I learned much later that she had been going through hell at that point in her life, and it was a good thing I had given her some space. Who knew.

That brings me back to my young student.

I have found that most kids, and adults, act badly for a reason. We know it’s true of ourselves, and we hope others will have some patience with our mistakes and outbursts. So, why is it so hard to do that for others? I imagine it’s because we have no idea what their life is like, and we often don’t have the chance to find out. So, we react and make it all about us. How that made ME feel. How disrespectful that is to ME. You know. We all do it. That’s why the “policy” idea is so intriguing to me. If I go into a situation (a classroom, a meeting, a store) clearly choosing to love, to look for the good, to be grateful for the examples of thoughtfulness or generosity that might be right in front of me, I have a better chance. I don’t get sucker-punched as easily.

When I walked back upstairs that day I found my student outside the classroom. He was looking for me, worried and upset. The teacher I had left to deal with it looked relieved I was back. I asked the student if we could talk. He nodded but looked skeptical. We went into a quiet-ish place and talked about what had happened. His explanation of why he had acted that way brought tears to my eyes. Once I had heard him out, he was ready to hear why I was so angry and frustrated about his behavior.

“Being the grown up” doesn’t always mean you’re right. All it means is that we have the perspective to ask for something – a talk, an explanation, some time alone. So, the next time I feel deeply “unlovely”* emotions or feelings I hope I will be able to remember this, now that I’ve written about it. I seem to need lots of reminders.

Here is what Madeleine L’Engle actually said to her young friend Cynthia:

“What is love?”

“A feeling.”

“No,” I said, “a feeling is something love is not.” Cynthia didn’t like this; neither do I, lots of the time.

“Why not?”

I asked her, “You love your parents, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t there some days when all your feelings about them are bad? When you’re furious with them, and all you feel is anger, or that they’ve been unfair?”

“Yes.”

“But you still love them, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

And later in the same passage she says,

“A friend of ours, Hugh Bishop Mirfield, says in one of his books: “ Love is not an emotion. It is a policy.” Those words have often helped me when all my feelings were unlovely.* In a summer household as large as ours I often have to act on those words.”

I will leave Madeleine there, acting on her words. And I will try to act on them, too.