This morning the soptlight of sunshine lit up the trees on the western ridge, and the shadow of our hill was moving steadily, and then it all faded to ordinary light. As I write, the sun just above the treetops at the top of our eastern ridge is like the glint of a bright light on the rounded bottom edge of a scrubbed, brushed aluminum pot. We don't use unlined aluminum anymore for a cook pot because of toxicity. Does this mean this kind or sunshine through some cloud looks different?
How do I love this world, and those with whom I most intimately share it? How do I cope when my emotion of the moment would betray me into drama? When love leaves the hearts and flowers, fluff and flurry stage, I was pointed from childhood to this sturdy (though not easy) description of what love is, of how it behaves:
"Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love." I Corinthians 13: 4-7, 13
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