Daddy Issues

This one might hurt a little.

‘Cause Father’s Day isn’t just fun and (baseball/bags/poker/tennis/golf) games. Sadly, this third Sunday in June can toss up all kinds of heartache and here’s why:

There’s a whole slew of troubled guys out there who happen to have reproduced.

And more than a few of their kids grew up… hurt. So many battle-scarred adults were wounded by the person responsible for protecting them:

Dad.

(Others were just collateral damage in his own private battles.)

All this means there’s a mess of kids – young and old – for whom Father’s Day seems a little ridiculous/offensive/pointless/painful. Or a lot.

I’d venture to guess that most of those troubled dads got that way because their dads were troubled.

(Unfortunately, it’s often an inherited trait.)

Doesn’t take a PhD in Clinical Psychology to figure out that a lot of deadbeat dads were raised by men who were chronically distant or distracted. Dismissive or demanding. Demeaning or downright mean.

Or maybe Dad just took off. Without thinking twice about the fallout.

Either way, daddy issues almost always come back to haunt somebody. Usually two somebodies:

Parent.

And child.

The sad truth is there are a lot of lousy dads. And even more mediocre ones. But the good news is there are some really fantastic fathers out there too.

My kids got one of the all-time greats.

His name is Steve… but he mostly goes by Dad, Daddy, Dizzle or (my personal favorite)…

Hoosier Daddy.

He’s the best of the best. Steady, strong, hardworking, humble, faithful, fun and fiercely devoted. He counsels, coaches, comforts, consoles. He folds laundry and settles disputes. He’s good with a mower, shovel, glove and putter. And he can grill a mean rack of ribs.

He plays with our kids and prays with our kids.

And he practices what he preaches.

He loves them. Dearly. Deeply.

Day after day after day.

Real love means sacrifice. For dads, it means willingly relinquishing their desires (perhaps their dreams too) so their kids can grow up healthy, safe and strong… and pursue their own dreams.

Being a good dad requires intentionality and investment.

Because you know how kids spell “love?”

T-I-M-E.

The best dads give their kids that gift, again and again.

(Even when it’s inconvenient or seems “unimportant” in comparison to other demands.)

If you got a dad like that, it’s pretty easy to respect, appreciate and celebrate that guy. But what if you didn’t?

Honor your father…

Anyway.

(Because God said so.)

Notice the lack of conditions/caveats/qualifications. It doesn’t say “Honor your father if (fill-in-the-blank).”

If he was honorable. Or admirable. Or available. (Or even around.)

It just says honor him.

Sometimes that means expressing gratitude (for a job well done) and admiration (for a life well-lived).

Sometimes it’s just acknowledging that he did the best he could. (Often this requires some hindsight… and humility.)

But if your dad was someone who abused you – physically or emotionally, intentionally or repeatedly – how in the world are you supposed to do that impossibly hard thing? Honor him?

Honestly, I have no idea. Because my dad didn’t abuse or abandon me. He didn’t belittle or manipulate or prey on me… he protected and provided and prayed for me.

Maybe “honoring” your dad just means allowing God to be your Father… and asking Him to help you not repeat the cycle of abuse.

Or maybe it means mustering every ounce of mercy and bravery that God offers and saying, “I forgive you.” Even if you’ve never gotten a glimpse of remorse or a whisper of “I’m sorry.”

Because forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.

(When you open it, you’ll find buried treasure inside. For some, freedom. Others, healing. Some, transformation. Others, a whole new identity.)

The truth is it’s our Creator who defines us. The real question isn’t who your father is… or even who you are… it’s whose you are.

Who’s your Daddy?

If you don’t already know Him, I pray you’ll get to know your Heavenly Daddy.

I just hope you’re not too wounded or bitter to even try.

Maybe you blame “our Father who art in heaven” for your troubled/absent/abusive one. You figure if He’s really God (all-knowing, all-powerful and all that) then He’s responsible for the dad you got (or didn’t get, as the case may be).

Fair enough.

But God’s not a dictator. He didn’t “make” your father do – or not do – anything. He isn’t responsible for that great big gash your dad left on your heart.

He just wants to be the one to stitch it up. (And make it better than new.)

He promises to be the Dad you never had: protective, patient, kind, strong, gentle, wise, merciful, fair, full of good humor and giver of good gifts.

He really is the… Best. Dad. Ever.

And He loves you like crazy.

From the bottom of my heart, I wish you a Heavenly Father‘s Day.

Wendy

P.S. Pretty sure if all dads were good dads, a lot of the world’s problems would vanish in a heartbeat.

In Order to (Re)Form a More Perfect Union

I don’t know about you, but my heart can’t take much more. It’s battered and bruised… And bracing for worse.

It feels like 2020 could be the year of our undoing.

Collectively, we were already reeling from the deadly destruction/ ecomomic devastation/overwhelming despair of COVID…

104,000 dead.

Millions unemployed.

Suicide attempts.

Overdoses.

Isolation.

Burnout.

And then came three consecutive stories of black Americans killed… for no apparent reason.

Amaud Arbery… out for a run.

Breonna Taylor… in her own home.

George Floyd… pinned to the street, gasping for air.

Three human beings created in God’s image… beautiful and beloved, all.

I haven’t seen the video of George Floyd’s last minutes. I cannot bring myself to watch it. (Because just reading about it nearly gutted me.)

A Gospel-sharing, bridge-building, neighbor-loving “gentle giant,” George Floyd took his last breath on earth Monday. Now he’s safely home in heaven with Jesus… and his mama.

But his death begs the question:

How are we still here? In America? In 2020?!

Stuck in this cesspool of racism, injustice and needless violence?

I don’t know about you, but I’m struggling to stay afloat. The flood of emotions is coming fast and furious. I’m grappling/praying/hurting/ fuming/crying/pleading/grieving. Deeply. Sometimes all in the space of five minutes.  But the deepest, darkest valley I keep finding myself in is… fear.

I’m afraid for the people I love whose skin just happens to be darker than mine.

Afraid they will encounter the wrong person at the wrong time… and wind up injured.

Or jailed.

Or dead.

And that’s why I can’t just sign a petition or post a meme and move on. I know I need to ask God’s Spirit to search me and uproot my own prejudices and pre-judgments. I need to confess my own predisposition to dismiss or devalue some of my neighbors. I need to pray against my tendency toward complacency-by-comfortableness.

I need to listen more, learn more, do more. Where I can, when I can, however I can. Because…

If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. (Desmond Tutu)

A couple days ago, I re-read Reverend King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” to some of his fellow clergymen. His words are haunting:

First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can’t agree with your methods of direct action;” who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a “more convenient season.”

Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection…

He goes on to write:

In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the great grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformists.

Oh LORD, help me be bold for you. Because…

Equity and justice are the foundation of your throne. ~ Psalm 89:14 (NET)

Help me be brave for my neighbor. Because…

No life is more “valuable” than another. (No life is more “disposable” either.) Our immeasurable worth is God-given and intrinsic (because we were made in His brilliant, beautiful image.)

Help me live and love like Jesus.

Genuinely.

Generously.

Help me do the right thing. Even when it makes me – or someone else – uncomfortable.

“Shout! A full-throated shout!
    Hold nothing back—a trumpet-blast shout!
Tell my people what’s wrong with their lives…
They’re busy, busy, busy at worship,
    and love studying all about me.
To all appearances they’re a nation of right-living people—
    law-abiding, God-honoring.
They ask me, ‘What’s the right thing to do?’
    and love having me on their side.
But they also complain,
    ‘Why do we fast and you don’t look our way?
    Why do we humble ourselves and you don’t even notice?’

“Well, here’s why:

“The bottom line on your ‘fast days’ is profit.
    You drive your employees much too hard.
You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight.
    You fast, but you swing a mean fist.
The kind of fasting you do
    won’t get your prayers off the ground.
Do you think this is the kind of fast day I’m after:
    a day to show off humility?
To put on a pious long face
    and parade around solemnly in black?
Do you call that fasting,
    a fast day that I, God, would like?

“This is the kind of fast day I’m after:
    to break the chains of injustice,
    get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
    free the oppressed,
    cancel debts.
What I’m interested in seeing you do is:
    sharing your food with the hungry,
    inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
    putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
    being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
    and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
    The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
    You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am.’

~ Isaiah 58:1-8, The Message

Let’s be justice-seekers and bridge-builders and hope-givers. Right where we are. However we can. 

Let’s be humble repenters… and revolutionaries for love. Lavish, lifesaving love.

Right in our own little corner of the world.

Maybe that won’t be the catalyst for sweeping change… but it will make a difference.

One day a man was walking along the beach, when he noticed a boy hurriedly picking up and gently throwing things into the ocean.

Approaching the boy he asked, “Young man, what are you doing?”

The boy replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”

The man laughed and said, “Don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make any difference!”

After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it into the surf. Then smiling at the man, he said …

“I made a difference to that one.”

2020 could be the year of our re-making.

Let’s get started.

Wendy

P.S. Condemning oppression and police brutality doesn’t make me anti-law enforcement. I am praying fervently for our police officers, firefighters and National Guard tonight too. Calling for an end to violent, destructive rioting doesn’t mean I don’t support the protestors or understand (that I don’t understand) their outrage and grief. I’m praying for peace… and change. Join me?

Collateral Damages

How the hell did we get here?

(Actually, I think I just answered my own question. Hell led us here… and we followed.)

Yesterday, pending legislation which would have required medical practitioners to provide care for newborns (who survive an abortion attempt) was voted down.

Sorry, kid. Can’t help you. RIP.

A measure intended to prevent infanticide was blocked by 44 senators who voted against it. (I won’t list them here, but feel free to look them up, call them up and vote them out.)

Here is H.R. 4712 (the bill also known as the Born-Alive Abortion Survivors Protection Act):

This bill amends the federal criminal code to require any health care practitioner who is present when a child is born alive following an abortion or attempted abortion to: (1) exercise the same degree of care as reasonably provided to any other child born alive at the same gestational age, and (2) ensure that such child is immediately admitted to a hospital. The term “born alive” means the complete expulsion or extraction from his or her mother, at any stage of development, who after such expulsion or extraction breathes or has a beating heart, pulsation of the umbilical cord, or definite movement of voluntary muscles, regardless of whether the umbilical cord has been cut. Also, a health care practitioner or other employee who has knowledge of a failure to comply with these requirements must immediately report such failure to an appropriate law enforcement agency. An individual who violates the provisions of this bill is subject to a criminal fine, up to five years in prison, or both. An individual who commits an overt act that kills a child born alive is subject to criminal prosecution for murder. The bill bars the criminal prosecution of a mother of a child born alive for conspiracy to violate these provisions, for being an accessory after the fact, or for concealment of felony. A woman who undergoes an abortion or attempted abortion may file a civil action for damages against an individual who violates this bill.

So… exactly what part of this is objectionable?

I welcome real reasons, thoughtful comments and legitimate objections. I truly do. (Thus the “comments” section upper left.)

But I recoil when I hear the tirades claiming this measure is an overt attempt to violate reproductive rights or privacy/protection/personal choices related to women’s healthcare. This has little or nothing to do with women’s rights or their bodies… because the person in question (the survivor) is living outside and apart from said woman.

This is not a conservative or liberal issue, people. This is an ethics issue.

We have anti-cruelty laws in place to protect voles, for heaven’s sake. (Rodents.)

Oh wait, I forgot… the loophole is (in the words of the governor of Virginia) an assurance that “the infant would be kept comfortable…”

While they (mother and doctor) decide whether or not (s)he should be left to die.

What have we become?

I’m no doctor, obviously. But 35 years ago, I began a rigorous pre-med program at Northwestern (which I later abandoned due to said rigor and an ongoing love affair with words). At the time, I planned to become a pediatrician but based on the later discovery of my revulsion at the sight of bodily fluids – blood, mucus, stomach contents, etc – I think I made the right choice. (Paper and pencils have never once triggered my gag reflex.) At some point in my studies, I stumbled across the Hippocratic Oath, part of which reads:

Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death.

Tread carefully indeed. A sobering reminder…

Above all, I must not play at God.

(Mic drop.)

Once upon a time, every physician took this solemn oath, swearing to uphold it for every patient, in every circumstance.

More and more med schools are abandoning that practice too. It’s outdated, they argue.

Apparently so.

Nelson Mandela once said, “There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children.” 

Lord, have mercy on our soul.

He knew we’d end up here.

You are headed for trouble! You say wrong is right, darkness is light, and bitter is sweet. You think you are clever and smart. And you are great at drinking and mixing drinks. But you are in for trouble. ~ Isaiah 5:20-22 (CEV)

This is what happens when we make ourselves gods and goddesses. We worship the self, drink to our shrewdness, celebrate our selfishness/satiation/sin. And in so doing, we make the whole world darker and more destitute.

“It’s the greatest poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish.”  – Mother Teresa

Yes, it is.

The littlest ones have become the collateral damage in our pursuit of happiness. Apparently now, it’s the newborns who survive a botched abortion and must suffer the consequences of their parents’ “choices.” Especially those babies deemed “defective.”

In his book The Disappearance of Childhood, Neil Postman wrote, Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see.” 

So, what messages are we sending, exactly? (With the ones we allow to live, I mean.)

It’s a haunting question.

One that kept me up last night.

One that ought to keep us (praying types) on our knees. And compel everyone who cares about human rights to vote accordingly. Because we’re on a very, very slippery slope.

In this country. In the world. In history.

Even so, God is good.

Even when a child dies at the hands of a doctor… by the choice of his/her own mother… His love cannot be terminated.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” ~ Matthew 19:14 (NIV)

Whether welcomed into the world or ripped from it, every child is wrapped in love.

Because… little ones to Him belong.

And heaven belongs to them.

Wendy

P.S. A brilliant author and illustrator once wrote: “A person’s a person, no matter how small.” (I couldn’t agree more, Dr. Seuss.)

 

 

 

 

Crazy Little Thing

Love is in the air.

It wafts through February with not-so-subtle notes of fresh-cut roses, chocolate truffles and pricey cologne.

(And occasionally, a hint of desperation.)

Valentine’s Day looms, casting its candlelit shadows and sultry melodies, rendering hopeless romantics everywhere… lovestruck.

Quick PSA: If you haven’t procured a token of affection for your sweetheart, you’ve got about 24 hours to bring the magic. And a giant teddy bear with big brown eyes and a red velvet bow is – sadly – devoid of magic… unless the object of your affection possesses the emotional maturity of a third-grader. (In which case you have have much bigger problems than finding the right Valentine’s Day gift.)

Since there seems to be a fair amount of confusion (and endless debate) about what love is and isn’tI thought I’d try to sift through some sentiments/platitudes/poems/prose and toss a few of the fantasies/fallacies/falsities/fables.

(In honor of Saint Valentine, of course.)

Love is never having to say you’re sorry. (Erich Segal)

I disagree. Humility and mercy are pretty essential to love’s survival. Say sorry, mean it, make amends… start again.

Love is blind. (Friedrich Nietzsche)

Nope. True love gazes intently, sees clearly… and loves anyway.

Love is friendship set on fire. (Jeremy Taylor)

Don’t really think so. I get the gist but… fire burns down. Love builds up.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. (William Shakespeare)

Smoke vanishes. Love sticks around.

Love is a game and true love is a trophy. (Rufus Wainwright)

If love is a game to you… you’re a player. (And a jerk.) Thank u, next.

Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. (George R. R. Martin)

Wrong. Love shouldn’t be toxic. Ever. (If it is, run for your life.)

Love is a flower; you’ve got to let it grow. (John Lennon)

Sweet sentiment… lousy analogy. Flowers wilt. Love is ever green.

Love is a serious mental disease. (Plato)

No, psychosis is a serious mental disease. Love, on the other hand, heals.

Love is a battlefield. (Pat Benatar)

Wrong. Life is a battlefield. Love is a bunker.

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. (Robert Frost)

I’m thinking this sounds an awful lot like objectification. (And isn’t that what we tell our daughters to avoid at all costs? Thought so.) It’s devotion – not desire – that lasts.

Love is a reciprocal torture. (Marcel Proust)

Nope. Love doesn’t inflict pain. It endeavors to ease it.

Love is like a fart. If you have to force it, it’s probably s&*#. (Smart, Alec.)

Actually, I have no idea who said this. (I just really wanted to attribute one of these quotes to the aforementioned fictional character.)

While these sayings are oft-quoted (and make catchy memes), none of the above is actually, well, true.

And I daresay it’s not what love is that matters most. It’s what love does.

Love rescues.

Love rights wrongs.

Love banishes fear.

Love bears the worst… and believes the best.

Love never double-crosses or quits or falters or fails.

Love lasts. Forever and ever. Amen.

That’s real love. And there’s only one like that.

God’s.

(But you already knew that, didn’t you?)

God’s love is pure… profound… perfect.

And nothing in the entire universe can stop it.

For I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels won’t, and all the powers of hell itself cannot keep God’s love away. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, or where we are—high above the sky, or in the deepest ocean—nothing will ever be able to separate us from the love of God demonstrated by our Lord Jesus Christ when he died for us. (Romans 8:38-39, TLB)

It’s utterly indestructible, startlingly tender.

It can be shunned, mocked, betrayed, rejected or reviled… and it isn’t deflected, deterred or destroyed. In fact, it isn’t dimmed or diminished in the slightest.

In love, God fixes His adoring gaze on us – even at our ugliest and worst. (Which, let’s be honest, is often far more unsightly than what we allow to seep out into the public eye.)

Love refuses to be spurned. It simply… waits.

It doesn’t flinch in the face of rejection or rage. (Or even turn away.)

Because with God, there’s no such thing as “irreconcilable differences.”

In fact, there are no conditions for God’s love whatsoever… and no reciprocation necessary.

Crazy, isn’t it?

Who could possibly love like that?

Not a single soul on this spinning blue ball has the grace and guts to love that way.

Love is… and love does…

because…

I AM.

Love isn’t just God’s idea. It’s His very nature. It’s who He was, who He is… and who He will always be.

And since He’s the inventor of love, He’s the one who gets to decide what defines and distinguishes it from all of its imitators: attraction, affection, camaraderie, chemistry, compatibility, flattery, obsession, esteem, loyalty, lust. It isn’t just sweet talk. It’s truth. And it’s true blue.

He shows us the essence of love by example.

Quite simply, He lives it.

(In epic proportions.)

Who He is… is what LOVE is:

Incredibly patient, exceedingly gentle, consistently kind. Strong and steady and wholly unselfish. Refreshing, resilient, restorative, relentless.

God lives and breathes love. And let His only Son die to prove it.

Because love will sacrifice everything for its beloved.

Jesus bore the shame and blame and excruciating pain, and He did it for those who were inflicting it. (You and me and all the rest of humankind.) He did it with no guarantee that we’d ever appreciate – or even acknowledge – His incomprehensible sacrifice. He did it, knowing we might never return His affection and adoration. (Or pass it on.)

My beloved friends, let us continue to love each other since love comes from God. Everyone who loves is born of God and experiences a relationship with God. The person who refuses to love doesn’t know the first thing about God, because God is love—so you can’t know him if you don’t love. This is how God showed his love for us: God sent his only Son into the world so we might live through him. This is the kind of love we are talking about—not that we once upon a time loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to clear away our sins and the damage they’ve done to our relationship with God.

My dear, dear friends, if God loved us like this, we certainly ought to love each other. No one has seen God, ever. But if we love one another, God dwells deeply within us, and his love becomes complete in us—perfect love!

This is how we know we’re living steadily and deeply in him, and he in us: He’s given us life from his life, from his very own Spirit. Also, we’ve seen for ourselves and continue to state openly that the Father sent his Son as Savior of the world. Everyone who confesses that Jesus is God’s Son participates continuously in an intimate relationship with God. We know it so well, we’ve embraced it heart and soul, this love that comes from God.

God is love. (1 John 4:7-16, The Message)

Turns out that crazy little thing called love is… a crazy big thing.

The biggest – and best – thing ever.

Wendy

P.S. Be(Love)d.

 

What Love Isn’t

My dear reader,

If you’re in love – or looking for it – I’m writing to you today. With the hope that maybe I can clear up a few misconceptions.

‘Cause we live in a crazy, confused, capricious world. And we sure as heck can’t rely on its loudest voices to tell us the truth about love. (On Valentine’s Day or any other day of the year.)

Our only hope for anything remotely resembling “happily ever after” is this:

We’ve got to keep the true in true love. (And denounce the dirty, degrading and rapidly mutating lies.)

In any relationship, at any age or stage, under any circumstance…

Here is what love isn’t:

Love isn’t impatient. If someone hurries you or hounds you or pushes you or pressures you to do anything, (s)he loves self, not you.

Love isn’t harsh or unkind or casually cruel. Sarcasm and snarky comments included. (It may seem witty at the time, but hurtful never really is.)

Love isn’t jealous or possessive or aggressive.

It isn’t arrogant either. If (s)he’s full of him(her)self, there’s no room for you.

Love isn’t rude. (Tone and tenor matter. More than most people think.)

Love isn’t demeaning or demanding. If you’re always the one giving in or giving up, get out. Now.

Love isn’t easily angered. Do you really want to be close to someone who might detonate at any moment? Rage-shrapnel is the toughest (and most painful) to remove.

Love isn’t easily offended either. It doesn’t keep a tally of missteps and infractions. The person who says “you owe me” rarely gets paid.

Love isn’t bitter. Forgive early, often, and liberally. (Mercy is a beautiful thing.)

Love isn’t gratified by another’s downfall or degradation. And it isn’t dishonest.

Love isn’t flimsy or fickle.

It isn’t fleeting.

Or unfaithful.

Because love isn’t chemistry. And chemistry isn’t commitment. (And commitment doesn’t have an expiration date.)

Love isn’t quick to assume or accuse. It isn’t cynical, suspicious or slanderous.

Love isn’t insecure.

It isn’t desperate.

Love isn’t controlling. Or clingy.

Love isn’t skittish. It doesn’t jump and run at the slightest pang. Or buckle under pressure. Love sticks around, hunkers down, rolls up its sleeves and gets to work. It digs deep and doesn’t quit. It holds on tight ’til challenges are met, conflicts resolved, obstacles overcome, crises weathered and storms ceased.

Love isn’t readily available (even – especially – on Tinder) and it cannot be store-bought. Though Hallmark, Fannie May (and florists and jewelers everywhere) would suggest otherwise. Especially today.

Love isn’t manmade. (In fact, nothing could be more divine.)

Love isn’t a coward.

Or a quitter.

Love holds on tight. For always.

Love… wins.

How can I be sure about all this?

God said so.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

See? Told you.

Here’s another translation:

So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love. 

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

 

Yeah, that’s the good stuff.

True love.

If you don’t have it, I hope you find it. And if you’ve found it, I hope you cherish it.

Here’s to the real thing,

Wendy

P.S. If you’re desperate for love this Valentine’s Day (and who isn’t?), allow me to introduce you to its inventor and its essence, Jesus.

Be His.

Hello, love.