FOR MOST OF US, the quest to love and be loved is one of life's prime motivating factors. This is natural since we are literally made of love by divine Love. Until we glimpse the unfathomable depth of God's love for exactly who we are right here, right now, forever, we seem to be on a journey to feel worthy. What speeds the trip?

Picture yourself at the edge of a forest with several paths to choose from. An aerial view would help. So would a map or the advice of a loving stranger who'd already hiked those paths. The same is true in our quest for love. An elevated view shows us the way. Obedience is the shortcut.

A higher view

An elevated view of love can only be obtained by elevating thought. This kind of mental, spiritual progress can't be achieved physically. It's achieved through prayer and through healing—often as we seek relief from the emptiness and pain of looking for love in "all the wrong places." I've seen two examples of this, one Biblical and one from my own experience.

The Biblical example is Jacob, a guy whose limited view of love began with a mother who favored him, a father who didn't, and a brother he thought was stealing his portion of the parental affection pie. What a nightmare! Looking for love in the approval of his mother and the inheritance of his father, he takes the first step away from divine Love; he lies. Disguising his identity, he claims an inheritance that is not his. "Who art thou?" asks his blind father.

"I am thy son, thy firstborn Esau," he answers (Gen. 27:32). Jacob experiences about a millisecond of happiness before he is forced from the comforts of home to escape the consequences of his actions. But true love, the real sense of goodness and fulfillments he is searching for, won't leave him alone.

The first night in exile, he dreams of angels coming to him, and hears God's promise to care for him and to give him all that's good, no matter what comes his way.

The full recognition and realization of this love comes 20 years later, when Jacob is brought face to face with the wrong he has done, as his brother Esau approaches him with an army. I love the way Mary Baker Eddy describes Jacob's self-reckoning in Science and Health: "Jacob was alone, wrestling with error,—struggling with a mortal sense of life, substance, and intelligence as existent in matter with its false pleasures and pains . . . ." Haven't we all been there? Her account continues, ". . . a message from Truth and Love, appeared to him and smote the sinew, or strength, of his error, till he saw its unreality. . . ." She further describes this message as an "incorporeal impartation of divine Love to man, which . . . restored his Soul,—gave him the spiritual sense of being and rebuked his material sense" (pp. 308-309).

This elevated view transformed Jacob. He went on to fulfill his destiny as father of the twelve tribes of Israel.

I witnessed a similar character transformation when a friend once called me for help. I could barely understand her through the sobs. After a few deep breaths, she told me she had cheated on someone. What really tore her apart was that this person was so sweet and innocent. She described him as the type of man who "when he saw a group of children, called them 'little angels.' "

We talked for a minute about how she had been snookered by the voice of temptation, which always promises freedom and fun while delivering the exact opposite—entanglement and not-so-fun. She was determined to set things right. I assured her I would pray for her while she took steps to tell the truth and undo the tangles.

As I prayed, I felt so grateful for her innate innocence, an innocence that could not live with the knowledge of wrongdoing. It was easy to see her cheating as a disguise, a case of mistaken identity—just like Jacob dressing up to look like someone he wasn't, to claim something that wasn't his. I knew my friend's pure motives would bless her and all involved.

I have to admit I wondered why she had bothered to tell me about the man's view of children as "little angels" in this moment of crisis. Then it occurred to me that she longed to have that view of herself, to have her childlike soul restored, just as Jacob had. I knew God, Love, was giving her that higher view right at that moment. Sure enough, within a short amount of time, all was forgiven, damages repaired, and lessons learned.

Today, she is a stronger, more compassionate person—less ready to judge others, but far more alert to the siren song of false promises.

The map

The map to the arms of Love is easy to read. If it appeared on mapquest.com, only two items might be listed:

1. Follow the Ten Commandments.

2. Turn to the Sermon on the Mount.

So why are we constantly losing our way? Either we forget to look at the map—often distracted by all the people going another direction—or we decide not to follow it.

When God dictated the Commandments to Moses as guideposts to protection and freedom, he didn't prioritize them. Celebrity lifestyles, song lyrics, boyfriends and girlfriends, best friends, roommates—all these may argue otherwise. But the commandment not to commit adultery didn't come with an asterisk (*unless you're really in love . . . ;* unless it's 2006 and everyone's doing it . . . ;* unless you need to live with someone to find out if you're compatible).

The route to freedom and love is marked by simplicity, not argument: "Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God" (Matt. 5:8).

Often we diverge from the simplicity of the Commandments and the Sermon on the Mount, because we get tricked into thinking another way looks better. The physical senses can obscure clear judgment and act as a compelling but ultimately insubstantial mirage.

Oddly enough, the best description I've ever read of how yucky you feel after this kind of experience came in a children's book. In this turn-of-the-century story, a little girl receives special permission to pick berries for her family's dinner if she promises not to eat any. Sure enough, she quickly notices: "No one was in sight. . . . There was nobody looking, and something seemed to make her forget her promise and think that no one would ever know if she ate just a few. . . ."

Of course, within a few minutes, she's eating berries hand over fist. She does fill the basket, but when it comes time to go home, she notices a strange feeling of not wanting to see her mother or her father—a feeling she's never had before. Her mother asks her if she's eaten any berries. The story continues: "And the same something that had told Elizabeth that nobody would know, seemed to move her tongue to say, 'No, Mother.' "

The author of the story happened to be a Christian Science healer and teacher who was reminiscing about her own experiences. She described how important it was to learn the truth about her mistake. "If we do not know about error," she explained, "we may be fooled by it, just as Elizabeth had been that very day." Elizabeth says: ". . . error was a lie when it said nobody would know. And it was a lie when it said I would be happy if I ate the berries . . . and it was a lie when it made me think I would have a better time if I told Mother I did not eat them" ("Telling the truth makes us happy," Elizabeth and Andy, The Christian Science Publishing Society, Boston, 1959).

A longtime high-school counselor underscored this fact when she told me that in all her years of advising students through relationship problems, one constant was their tendency to underestimate the power of conscience. She had observed much suffering by students who felt "way worse than they ever expected" after a sexual encounter. On the one hand, she took this as a good sign—a sign that Truth and Love are ever operative in consciousness. On the other hand, she was saddened that they often felt desperate to silence these feelings of discomfort through increasing self-justification and deeper entanglements.

One graduate student I know escaped these kinds of entanglements permanently. When the party scene ceased to satisfy, she began to study Christian Science. She explains: "As I started studying the Bible and Science and Health, the influence of the Christ in my heart uncovered the innocence I'd felt as a child. A huge part of this healing was a newfound self-worth that accompanied the freedom from false appetites. This helped me overcome a deep-seated shyness and planted me on the path toward understanding that life is about giving and completeness rather than trying to fill imaginary voids."

Way-showing

Thanks to the unselfish trailblazing of many, especially Christ Jesus, we have precise directions to Love, including pitfalls to avoid. These are not directions to a less fulfilling life or love. Jesus promised, "I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly" (John 10:10).

Jesus invested as much or more into teaching how to treat those who had temporarily taken a detour, as he did in healing them. In his treatment of three separate adulterous women, he exemplified compassion.

To the woman of Samaria, whom he met at Jacob's well, he offered "a well of water springing up into everlasting life." The woman responded, "Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not."

Perhaps sensing her desire for permanent peace and satisfaction, Jesus brought her face to face with the fact that she had had five husbands, and a sixth man who wasn't her husband at all. Jesus didn't give her a lengthy lecture. He just told her to worship "in spirit and in truth." She went on her way, recognizing and announcing the Christ (see John 4:7–29).

When the scribes and the Pharisees rounded up a woman caught "in the very act" of adultery, demanding that she be stoned, he uttered his immortal rebuke—not to the woman but to all would-be character judgers: "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her" (see John 8:1–11).

And how did he react when the town harlot interrupted him at a fancy dinner? Science and Health answers this question in no uncertain terms: "Did Jesus spurn the woman? Did he repel her adoration? No! He regarded her compassionately" (p. 363). Who of us can't identify with the supreme relief and gratitude that woman must have felt to be loved so unconditionally for exactly who she was?

And here's where the analogy of the woodland path stops, because it's flawed. A better analogy can be found in Science and Health: "Jesus mapped out the path for others. He unveiled the Christ, the spiritual idea of divine Love" (p. 38). At that moment, the Magdalen apparently saw in herself what Jesus' love uncovered—that she had never strayed from Love in the first place. She couldn't possibly. Neither can we.

The way to love and be loved is revealed. It's our divine destiny.

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