First, may I point out that there is a sort of dreadful irony about this fact?
Secondly, I think that a culture which openly embraces (via their movie dollars) the debasement, humiliation, and abuse of women shows itself to be--if not dead--at least terminally ill. (And this may be the only time you will ever hear me advocate for euthanasia.)
Thirdly, I am heartbroken for the legions of women (the audience was almost 70% female) who have been duped into thinking that there is anything attractive about being stalked, dominated, and violated by a man.
But I'm not surprised. Hasn't there been an enemy working against true Love since human history began?
Do his tactics ever change?
When God says, "Love is patient," Satan whispers, "Lies! Love takes what it wants, when it wants it."
God says, "Love is kind."
Satan says, "Love is cruel."
God says, "Love does not envy."
Satan says, "Love never settles. If someone has what you want, take it."
God says, "Love does not boast."
Satan says, "Love is egotistical and conceited."
God says, "Love is not proud."
Satan says, "Love is domineering and dismissive."
God says, "Love does not dishonor others."
Satan says, "Love involves disgrace and degradation."
God says, "Love is not self-seeking."
Satan says, "Love is rapacious and predatory. It looks out for #1."
God says, "Love is not easily angered."
Satan says, "Love is caustic and painful."
God says, "Love keeps no record of wrongs."
Satan says, "Love has a ledger, and forgiveness has an endpoint."
God says, "Love does not delight in evil."
Satan says, "Any dark thing goes, as long as someone is enjoying it."
God says, "Love rejoices in truth."
Satan says, "Forbidden pleasures taste sweetest."
God says, "Love always protects."
Satan says, "Love ravishes and destroys."
God says, "Love trusts."
Satan says, "Better not. Love is uncertain and dangerous."
God says, "Love hopes."
Satan says, "Love is a farce, a lie, a losing game."
God says, "Love perseveres."
Satan says, "Love is disposable and transient. An illusion meant for gullible fools."
So whom do you believe? The Author and very definition of love?
Or the one who has been trying to distort and destroy it from the beginning?
And if we believe in the Author of love, what part do we have with it's sworn enemy?
But it goes beyond this.
Because if we accept God's definition of love, I think our loyalty ought to extend past the rejection of obvious perversion.
It should reach toward the ideal. It should fix its eyes on what is good and true and strive to grow in that direction.
The other day, one of my children enlightened me about a curious phenomenon known as "sensory adaptation".
During this process (which, he informed me, is not yet fully understood) whenever our noses pick up a constant smell--good, bad, or ugly--for a while our brain attempts to process the odor and classify it as "pleasant", "unpleasant", or "dangerous".
Eventually, if we do not remove ourselves from the environment, our brain stops identifying the scent, and our olfactory sensory neurons adapt to the repetitive odor stimuli by reducing their rate of firing--so as not to be overloaded with redundant information.
When this happens, although the odor has not changed, we then perceive the smell to be fading, which allows us to adapt to our environment and discern new smells.
While this was helpful in explaining how a 12 and 10 year old boy can be oblivious to the stench of their sweaty basketball clothes under the bed for three days, it also brought to mind a similar--but not nearly so helpful--phenomenon in relationships.
When a romance is in its beginning stages, every moment spent together is infused with magic. The lover marvels at the glint of sunlight in his beloved's hair and the intoxicating flutter of her eyelashes against her cheek.
She moves with unparalleled grace and beauty. Her voice is like music. Surely, no lovelier specimen of femininity has ever walked the earth!
And when the beloved gazes upon her lover--behold! A white knight!
Amazing. Handsome. Clever. His smile makes her catch her breath.
Surely he is a man of rare wisdom and wit, and--wonder of wonders!--his manly visage is filled with tenderness for her alone!
Fast forward seven years and three kids, and too often the wife now sees her lover as a man of rare tactlessness and vulgarity, and the only thing that makes her catch her breath is the amount of laundry he produces.
Meanwhile he is marveling at how often his "beloved" manages to block the television screen with her irritating self. As for her hair, he hasn't seen it out of a ponytail in over two years. And her voice? Surely, no crabbier specimen of femininity has ever walked the earth!
What happened? Are they truly different people? Was there a "bait and switch"?
My contention is that we are prone to a form of "sensory adaptation" in our relationships. The attributes and habits which enthrall us at the beginning become ordinary and unremarkable--or even irritating.
The everyday graces are taken for granted, and the daily grind magnifies our quirks and flaws until we slip...
...into a numb tolerance. The lover and the beloved have not necessarily lost their charms. They've just become immune to one another.
Relationship adaptation.
And then comes the steady creep of dissatisfaction, and the hunger for the sweetness of the love that once was, and then...secret, sideways glances at the office, or flickering bodies on a computer screen, or the red hot words of a 500 page "romance" novel.
It is the enemy's answer to sensory adaptation. "Love takes what it wants."
"Love looks out for #1 (since no one else will)..."
And finally, "Forbidden pleasures taste sweetest."
And we trade the tangible reality of true love for the falsity of fantasy.
We give up an infinite spectrum of beauty for shades of grey.
Oh, Sleepers, awake! The cure for this kind of "sensory adaptation" is found in the fresh infusion of a new scent!
A breath of kindness. A touch of patience. A glimpse of grace. The remembrance of mercy given and mercy received.
The delicate fragrance of hope.
It requires effort in both being and perceiving.
And this is where gratitude gives its gifts.
Gratitude is like a pair of glasses for the soul.
It allows us to see wonder in the mundane.
It enables us to move past twitterpation (heart flutters, sleepless pining, and goo-goo eyes) into the comfortable familiarity of functional love--without losing any of the tenderness and affection we started out with with.
It's a love-preserver!
Intentional gratitude causes the lover to see his wife wipe a dribble of squash off a tiny chin and be moved by her beauty.
It warms the heart of the beloved when she watches her husband snoring open-mouthed on the couch with one child on his chest and another under his arm.
It recognizes trips to the grocery store, and mowing the lawn, and changing the oil, and packing the lunches, and making the beds, and driving to Little League, and balancing the checkbook, and folding the laundry as love letters, capable of moving the lover and the beloved from the shallow swirls and eddies of new affection into the deep, powerful currents of committed love.
That's what we were made for.
That's what I want. It's what I have.
Not 50 shades of grey, 500 shades of gratitude.
And real love.
