I invest in people. That’s what I do. Most every day I invest in someone. It’s not just my job, it’s my life. When I wasn’t paid to invest in people, I still did. For me, life is about investing in people.
All people matter, but I invest in some people more than others. Some are closer to me than others. Some people I have a higher responsibility for than others. Some people are naturally closer to my heart than others. Some of my investments are more personal than others.
The only way to make a true investment in someone is to give them a piece of your heart. The larger my investment in someone the more of my heart they get. Those in whom I am most invested, the ones that are most personal, these receive my whole heart. I hold nothing back from them. They receive all of me—all I have to give.
Something truly magical happens when you give someone your whole heart. It’s magical for the recipient, surely, since everybody desires to be loved. But more importantly, something magical happens for me when I open myself up and give of myself freely and entirely. There is nothing like being “all in” with someone. It’s the greatest risk. The height of vulnerability. Maximum exposure. Yet with all that comes the freedom to be completely selfless. The freedom to pursue only the other’s best interest. The freedom to give without expectation of receiving.
My deepest desire for those in whom I invest is that they would know that they are loved. And for those in whom I am most invested, that they would know they are loved completely. That they would simply receive what I give them. That they would allow me to love them. And that my love would assure them that they can invest with all of their hearts as well.
Yet many do not respond in this way. Many to whom I have given all of myself find it difficult to give all of themselves. Sometimes they can give very little of themselves. Sometimes they just don’t trust that they can be loved so completely. They don’t believe that it is possible for someone to give all of themselves, especially to them. They don’t have faith that such a love is even possible, must less possible for them.
And so I am finding that oftentimes the return on my investment is faithlessness. Those in whom I am most heavily invested frequently respond with distrust. They respond with disbelief. They respond by hiding from me. And this has caused me the greatest sorrow: that those whom I have given all of my heart time after time after time, would still not have the faith to trust that my heart is all theirs. Perhaps, then, the greatest of all pain is that which comes from faithlessness; from loving completely and yet not being trusted.
Is this what it feels like to be God?