Blue iris in Judy's garden a few years ago.
Talking to Myself Forty-Five October 25. 2020
And what is love? Long ago St. Paul
told us what we needed to know.
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does
not envy; it does not boast. It is not
proud. It does not dishonor others.
It is not self-seeking; it is not easily
angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but
rejoices with the truth. It always
protects, always trusts, always hopes,
always perseveres.... Now these
three remain: faith, hope, love, but
the greatest of these is love.”* He
speaks of love. Finally, I hear him
and believe him. He loves me. Our
age is a difficult age. It is hard to
hope, hard to believe even in love,
and yet it arrives, despite all the
illness, the deaths, the terrible
fear of losing everything. Then
we know we can be happy. We
will live; our words will last.
We are like a huge old black oak,
its roots under both our houses.
We are not forgotten. We are
safe. Even when we fall, we will
continue to be known and loved.
* St. Paul, first Corinthians 13.