I keep on asking myself, what does it mean by loving? A close friend of mine shared 1 Corinthians 13 to me.
Verse 4-7 always made me feel convicted, till there was once when I thought that I would never be able to love...
I feel ashamed... I'm too weak to love... To love indeed takes a great courage... To let go grudge, to offer forgiveness... I was emotionally hurt so many times till I became an emotional handicap (if only such term exist). But I don't want to be paralyzed forever, and hence I gather every drop of strength left, strive to love again.
"There's always hope", I told myself over and over.
I'm surprised at how I could relate myself to poetry. I found this poem during my poetry class. It's just beautiful, the way it is...
Definition of Loving
by Bruce Dawe
Thank you for love, no matter what its outcome,
that leads us to the window in the dark,
that adds another otherness to others,
that holds out stars as if they were first diamonds
found in a mine that had been long closed down,
that hands out suns and makes us ask each morning:
What else do we need, picnickers in time?
Thank you for love that does not hang on answers,
That says, “Enough’s enough, to love is plenty …”
– by such signs do we know the world exists,
amo ergo sum, thank you for that.
The miles, the years, the lives that lie between
– they always lay there, and they always will,
but look, the loved one spans that dizzy distance
by the act of being, and we lovers turn
our faces steadily thou-wards as a field
of sunflowers like a tracking station turns,
charting its meaning by the westering sun.'
that leads us to the window in the dark,
that adds another otherness to others,
that holds out stars as if they were first diamonds
found in a mine that had been long closed down,
that hands out suns and makes us ask each morning:
What else do we need, picnickers in time?
Thank you for love that does not hang on answers,
That says, “Enough’s enough, to love is plenty …”
– by such signs do we know the world exists,
amo ergo sum, thank you for that.
The miles, the years, the lives that lie between
– they always lay there, and they always will,
but look, the loved one spans that dizzy distance
by the act of being, and we lovers turn
our faces steadily thou-wards as a field
of sunflowers like a tracking station turns,
charting its meaning by the westering sun.'
***
Lord, teach me to sincerely love.
-Miss B-
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