Love is so complex that all of creation is baffled by it. Man tries to put a finger on it, but it’s erratic and unfathomable nature engulfs it whole. Love’s too big to be subject to man’s comprehension, too small to be captured by a mortal’s grasp. If it were not so, Love would mean a bag of peanuts; a mere song sung for the sake of it’s own interest. Only it’s Creator shall wield it in the palm of his hands.
Love is powerful; it’s the substance that keeps the fabric of existence in place. It’s grasp so forceful that it held Christ on the cross. Yet it’s delicate and submissive like a master washing his servant’s feet.
I’ve been thinking recently and I’ve come to a conclusion that I really don’t have much love within me.
Love is asking: “How are you?” on a Monday morning.
The lack of love is asking: “How are you?” on a Wednesday afternoon.
Love is to prepare a nice hot cup of Chai Latte for a friend.
The lack of love is to prepare a nice hot cup of Chai Latte for a friend.
Love is praying for her no matter how heavy your eyelids may be at night.
The lack of love is praying for her no matter how tired you may be.
Love is looking at his faults and knowing that his heart’s purer than his actions.
The lack of love is looking at his faults and laying down judgment within.
Love is to be genuinely interested in his life.
The lack of love is to be interested in her life.
Love is the willingness to make a complete fool of yourself just to make her smile.
The lack of love is to make a complete fool of yourself to eventually get her fooled.
Just some thoughts on a train ride...