Love Should Constrain Us

There is a critical flaw in how we sometimes practice love. We think loving people means doing whatever we can to help them, especially when we have the influence to do so.

But true love should also act as a constraint. It should shape not only how we treat the people we love, but also how our love for them affects everyone else.

A love that comes at the expense of someone else isn't true love.

Some years back, I came across a free course that I knew would be valuable for me. I was excited about it until I discovered that registration had already closed. Not only that, applicants were expected to take a short qualifying test before being accepted into the programme. Unfortunately, I had missed both.

The course was being organised by someone I knew quite well, so I reached out to her anyway. I explained how much I wanted to be part of it and why I had missed the deadline.

Without hesitation, she said, "Don't worry. I'll give you a slot."

Now, this was a free course. I knew many people would have applied. Some would have prepared for the test, written it, and hoped for a place. I also knew that many others would not have made the cut, not because they weren't good enough, but because the number of available slots was limited.

So I asked her, "I hope you're not giving me someone else's slot simply because you know me."

She laughed and said,

"Haba, Edith! Aren't you worth it? You're my friend. My personal person; someone I love and respect so much."

For a moment, I was quiet.

I silently asked myself, "Isn't this what people call grace?"

But deep down, I knew it wasn't grace. It would have been benefiting from an injustice.

Then I replied,

"If giving me a slot means someone else who followed the process loses theirs, then that wouldn't be fair. Even if I were more qualified, the truth remains that I didn't register on time and I didn't take the qualifying test. I'd rather wait for the next batch than take a place that rightly belongs to someone else simply because I know the organiser."

There was a long silence.

"Edith... you just keep raising the bar. Honestly, what is this?" She laughed. "Give me a few hours. I'll call you back."

To be clear, my friend wasn't trying to be unjust. She was simply doing what many of us instinctively do for the people we love. You know, using whatever access or influence we have to make things easier for them.

And there is nothing wrong with recommending someone, mentoring them, telling them about an opportunity, or advocating for them.

The ethical line is crossed when helping one person requires unfairly disadvantaging another.

So, I prayed and hoped that somehow, without denying another person their rightful place, a slot would be found for me.

True to her word, she called the next day.

She said I would have to wait for the next cohort, which was about six months away.

Did I feel disappointed? Of course I did.

I was sad that I had found the course too late. Part of me even wished I had simply accepted her offer instead of questioning it.

I really wanted that course. I had the time, the interest, and I knew it would benefit me.

Yet beneath the disappointment was a deeper sense of peace. I knew I had chosen what was right. I couldn't enjoy an opportunity knowing someone else had been unfairly pushed aside simply because I had access or influence.

Interestingly, during those six months of waiting, I discovered MouldAfrica and enrolled in some of their programmes. Looking back today, I can honestly say I'm deeply grateful for that detour.

Doing the right thing is never wasted. Sometimes it opens doors you never expected. Other times, it simply shapes your character in ways that matter even more.

This experience taught me something about love that I have continued to think about ever since:

Love should constrain us.

We often think love means using our influence for the people closest to us. But if helping someone we love requires us to ignore fairness, bypass a process, or take what belongs to someone else, then love should make us pause.

The better question isn't only, "Who can I help?"

It is also, "Who might be harmed by the way I'm helping?"

We know that God is love. We also know that justice and righteousness are the foundation of His throne (Psalm 89:14). This means we cannot separate God's love from His justice.

When we direct our goodness, privileges, and compromises exclusively toward our inner circle while ignoring the collateral damage to strangers, we may call it love, but we are practising favouritism.

And favouritism, no matter how well-intentioned, often leaves someone else paying the price.

This is how broken systems are sustained. When access becomes determined by who you know rather than by fairness, merit, or due process.

The people benefiting may not even see themselves as doing anything wrong. They may simply believe they are helping "their own."

But love does not ask us to protect our people at everyone else's expense.

It calls us to care about the person we know without forgetting the person we don't.

It compels us to say:

"I won't take what isn't rightfully mine, even if it's freely offered."

Because sometimes loving someone means opening a door for them.

And sometimes it means refusing to open a door if doing so requires closing it unfairly on someone else.

God's love is never unjust.

It doesn't rob Peter to pay Paul.

And neither should ours.