CS Lewis has a famous quote from The Four Loves that begins with “To love at all is to be vulnerable …” He says that if you want to protect yourself, you can’t love anything at all, not even a pet, especially not a parrot.  (I may have added the last bit.)  It’s not just the feeling of love itself that makes you vulnerable.  Because of love, you become vulnerable to a truckload of other emotions that get tangled up with it – feelings of responsibility, insecurity, uncertainty, fear of loss, grief, etc.  You expose your heart to all kinds of things.  Sheesh.  It’s like walking into a hospital and licking doorknobs.

I realized fairly quickly that my emotions would be of little use in making a wise decision in this situation.  They were simultaneously unselfish in wanting to do the best for Philip and selfish in wanting to protect my heart.  And I just knew that when I got slammed with new emotions later on down the road, I needed a more solid anchor than the previous emotions … that wouldn’t be present in that moment anyway.  That is a problem with emotion based decisions.  The pesky things jump ship the moment there are storm clouds on the horizon.

I wrestled a lot with questions of design, both mine and his.  That’s where it all began.  It was about unpacking a piece of my design that I had felt for years, in a specific way that I had envisioned doing it.  On the one hand, it was like any other life experiment we undertake to find out what God put in us – like learning how to paint or play an instrument.  On the other hand, it wasn’t like that at all.

I began to see more clearly the proportions of design.  They are not even.  Some facets are large and require a huge investment of time and energy and may even consume much of our life.  Others are more moderate.  Some might take a small portion – maybe an hour or two here and there.  Others might be for a season. 

When I looked at my design from that perspective, I recognized that the time and emotional commitment needed for Philip was more than I could see investing in that facet of design.  It would require a sacrifice of too many other areas. And for his sake, we couldn’t continue as things were.

After I had thought and prayed through this a hundred times and from another hundred angles, God gently reminded me that He had not said I would have Philip forever.  I was the one who made that statement.  Quite avidly.  I made a dozen inner vows about not being one of those parrot owners who couldn’t cut it, and here I was.  Note to self.  It’s really not a good idea to make those kinds of vows.  Just keep your mouth shut.

I was going to find Philip a new home. 

The final decision was made from an intentionally calculated perspective, but I cried afterwards.  To love at all is to be vulnerable.  But I had an anchor and I would need it to help carry me through the daunting process of finding his new home. 

God was already a step ahead of me.