The Love Chapter

This is Len Sweet and me, taken by Will, in Canaan Valley, WV.

At Len Sweet's Mountain Advance a couple of weekends ago he mentioned The Message. He also said we should all write our own Message. So I've begun with the first several verses of I Corinthians 13. I'll put the rest up tomorrow.

If I speak with polish of Glenn Close, or write like Annie Dillard, or do either of these with the perspective of one who serves God and has stood in praise before the Divine Presence -- and have no love to give -- well, all those words might as well be thrown in the garbage because they sound like the hideous noise of a dial-up modem connecting to the internet.

And though I took the SHAPE class at church and found out I have the gift of prophecy, and can read the Bible without wading through the Slough of Misunderstanding, and even possess a working grasp of the mystery that is God; and though I have faith that could stop the violence in the Sudan, keep unborn babies safe in their mother's wormb, or fill all the empty bellies across the planet and give all people dignity, and have no love to give -- I might as well have not been born.

And though I sell my big house, my Volvo V70 Turbo wagon, and buy my clothes at the consignment shop (and forget Happy Meals -- it's Dollar Value menu only); And though I sacrifice my own life by giving mouth-to-mouth to a stranger or donating blood, or traveling to a dangerous country only to have my car set on fire by a mob -- if I don't have love to give -- my spiritual account still says $0.0.

Love answers the "why" question of the toddler a thousand times; love listens on the phone for an hour to a hurting friend; love drives someone who has no wheels to the doctor's office or gets off its butt to fix everyone a cup of tea not just herself even though it's much easier to just pop a mug into the microwave.

It doesn't think, "Who does the girlfriend think she is?" when someone at church gets a great haircut or loses a few pounds; it doesn't go on and on about how gifted its children are compared to the average child (it doesn't label anyone else's children either), and it doesn't get disgusted at the people that are always talking about how gifted their children are either; it doesn't look down on anybody -- even in its heart.

Love doesn't park itself in the ten-items or less express check out lane with 15 items, and it doesn't count the items of those who do, then mutter, "Well, I thought this was the express lane!"

I'm tired. I'm going to bed.

grace this evening,

lisa

Comments

[Kevin]

Lisa, You truly are a great writer. I have enjoyed so much reading your blog everyday. I can see the love talked about in this chapter come out in your words. Thank you for sharing Len's idea of writing our own Message. I think I may just do that.

[lisa]

Thanks, Kevin! I really appreciate that greatly.

[Deborah]

Loved this. Beautiful. Thanks, Lisa. Nice to read as I wrap up my morning meditations.

Blessings
Deborah

[Patrick]

very cool.... I can "see" your words!
Thanks for sharing your gift of words with us!!!!

[Paula]

Wow. Awesome post.

[Donna]

Good exercise, and as usual, a bit of humor as a bonus. Great post. - Donna

[alwyn]

beautifully written...and u even know Len Sweet! :O

great stuff, Lisa.

[radioreb]

Oh, WOW! Splendid, just splendid. Just beautiful. With a toddler who really does ask "why?" a thousand times, you have reminded me of a love different from other loves. Even as I type, he is bringing refrigerator magnets up to me one by one and asking, "What is that?" "That's Satchmo, son," I say.

Thank you.