loving hot tamales until it hurts

Hot tamales are my favorite candy.

They pale in comparison to my favorite food, popcorn, but I’m never torn at a candy counter where hot tamales are found.  In fact, I have a little handful of them sitting next to me right now. 

Who wouldn’t love to crunch through the translucent, waxy outer-shell, sinking your teeth into the gummy center?  The spiciness, the sweet hotness of it all!


About a year ago I went to the dentist.  While cleaning my teeth, the hygenist leaned back and asked, “So, do you like sticky candy?”  I don’t remember what my exact answer was, but I was all insecure for the rest of the visit.  Yes, Pam the hygenist, I do like sticky candy!  I love it more than any other candy, but c’mon, it’s not like I swish with it before going to bed at night. 

It’s hard when what you love is what hurts.

For me, I only hurt because I love something.  When I’m apathetic, there’s no sense of loss.  But if I’m truly invested in something – anything – my heart aches most when that thing is broken.  It’s why I still hurt over my not-so-perfect relationship with my late father, why I hurt over broken friendships and it’s why I hurt while working.  It’s more than daisy petal pulling loves-me-not romanticism, it’s deep seeded abiding love that can ache more than just about anything.

What are my options?  Stop caring so that I can stop hurting?  Stop eating hot tamales so that Pam the hygenist will like my teeth next time?  We know the answer to this one — note the aforementioned hot tamales next to me right now. 


2 Responses to “loving hot tamales until it hurts”

  1. 1 Becca
    August 22, 2007 at 4:40 am

    It’s like that with loving what One Day Will Be, rather than What Now Is.
    Kind of like when I get un-gently brushed off at the airport counter and it makes me want to cry, because people are NOT supposed to deal with each other that way, harshly. Something deep within me balks at it, rails against it with a fury. I’d always thought that this reaction was a sign of my imperfection, of weakness.
    Far from it. It speaks of my design in God’s image, and of my perfection rather than my flaw. It points to the truth that we are now far from home in a broken world, that we were MADE for sweeter and more glorious things. To avoid that hurt, to “stop caring so that I can stop hurting,” is by far the greater tragedy. It is to stop hoping that one day, in Christ, things WILL be put right.
    Thanks for caring even if it hurts, Kar.

  2. January 10, 2013 at 12:44 am

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