Years ago in a Bible study, I mentioned how important it is to tell the people we love, “I love you.” I reflected on those times as a pastor when parishioners lamented that their parents never said those three words. This is particularly true of adult men who find it so difficult to admit to others (especially to fathers, sons, brothers, friends) that they love them. I recounted several times when men, even in their old age, expressed their disappointment and anger that their fathers never gave them this paternal blessing. I expressed how important it is for men to hear from their fathers that they are loved.
One man in the group said, “I don’t think it’s that important to express verbally our love for one another. I have two sons, and they know I love them although I have never told them that I do.” Sitting by the side of this man was his wife looking down at the floor. A tear went down her cheek. She knew how important that verbal blessing could have been in the lives of their sons if they had been assured of such love.
For some reason, we often find it most difficult to express our love and appreciation for and pride in those closest to us.
For some reason, we often find it most difficult to express our love and appreciation for and pride in those closest to us. Overall, I am not fond of musicals, but “Fiddler on the Roof” is an exception. In that musical the central character Tevye is puzzled over the fact that his three daughters do not want to marry the men he has chosen for them. Instead, they want to marry the men they love. This is a novel concept for Tevye. He is accustomed to marriages being arranged by the fathers through the village matchmaker. So, he begins to think about his own marriage. Does he love his wife? And does she love him?
So, he asks his wife, “Golde, do you love me?”
“Do I what?” she asks.
“Do you love me?
“What kind of question is that?” exclaims Golde. “Go lie down. You mut have indigestion.”
“Golde, I’m asking you a question—do you love me?”
“Do I love you? For twenty-five years I’ve washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house, given you children, milked the cow. After twenty-five years, why talk of love right now?”
“Golde, the first time I met you was our wedding day. I was scared. I wondered if we would get on together. But my father and mother said we’d learn to love each other. And now I’m asking, Golde, do you love me?”
“Do I love him? For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him, fought with him, starved with him. Twenty-five years my bed is his. If that’s not love, what is?”
“Then you love me?” Tevye asks.
“I suppose I do.”
“And I suppose I love you, too.”
Tevye and Golde then sing, “It doesn’t change a thing. But even so, after twenty-five years, it’s nice to know.”
But I would suggest that telling each other, “I love you” changes a great deal. It’s true that much of the time deeds speak louder than words. But sometimes words speak louder than deeds—sometimes we need to hear those words to believe them. But as I said, that can be difficult, especially to say those words to those closest to us. This is particularly true of men. We far too often leave unsaid what must be said. In the Hebrew Scriptures we find many examples of fathers blessing their children. In a real sense, we fail to “bless” our children (or our spouses, parents, or friends) when we withhold those words that can help them blossom to their full potential.
All children (and adults) need affirmation and blessing, but perhaps they need it most from their parents.
Children are keen observers of life, but they are often poor interpreters. Because of their limited experience and developing identities, they can easily misunderstand our words, looks, silence, and actions. What may be obvious to us (our love for and pride in them) may be far from certain to them. All children (and adults) need affirmation and blessing, but perhaps they need it most from their parents. Somehow, we all need to know deep down that we matter and are loved.
Those of us who are parents and grandparents have a crucial responsibility to communicate to these children our true feelings for them. Why do we procrastinate telling them (and our partners, parents, siblings, and friends) how much they really mean to us? Why wait until it’s too late to say, “I love you.” And why do we men withhold the blessing we can share with those closest to us?
I have a more than casual suspicion that if we expressed our love for, appreciation of, and pride in those closest to us in ways that could not be misunderstood, they and we would be liberated from some of the awful burdens we carry in this life. It is always on the wings of love that we soar to unimaginable heights of growth and joy.
I believe there is much love in our world and much love within us. However, love unexpressed is like water in underground rivers deep beneath deserts. The water is there but because it remains hidden, it cannot allow the desert to blossom into an exquisite garden. So, like the song says, “Let your love flow like a mountain stream.” Don’t keep it bottled up so that it remains a secret known only to you. Someone’s identity and destiny may be at stake.
