I Am Not Good At This, But I Have Hope For It

Love is not fickle. It is a choice, and a claw which digs into the heart and drops anchor. Love lets go, but love does not stop pursuing. Its voice calls out in the night, lamenting when separated, rejoicing when reunited. The walls of the bitter cannot muffle it, though the inhabitant covers his ears with his pillow.

Love does not rest. There is no relent in its vocabulary, no ceasing in its action. Sight returns to the blind, mobility to the lame. Deepest scars are healed by it, predispositions of gender and genealogy are torn asunder by it. Sleepless eyes close heavy in its arms. Love’s constant knock on the door runs on into the darkest night of the soul.

Love rejects that which is not love because love’s nature demands it so. Hate cannot exist where there is love, but tries with everything to destroy it. But love is indestructible. It will not be stopped.

Love transcends the moment, because love is eternal. It outlasts the pains that are so prevalent in this world. Because it is truth, it outlasts. Love abides no lies, nor does it wear a mask to hide it’s vulnerability. There is freedom in its honesty, which also means that there is pain. These pains are endured, though, because love endures all things. Hardships, poverty, drought and excess. Hunger, waste, murder, rebellion, and ravaging of the planet. Love is vast and ever-expanding. Therefore, love covers a multitude of sins.

Love is sacrificial, forgiving. Love may change its appearance, but it does not quit when denied.

Love does not recognize itself, for love does not think of itself. Love does not take, does not ask to be returned, but celebrates each time that it is. Love asks only to be received. Love does not require return, but requires to be poured out in full. But love never runs out. Love never fails.