1 Corinthians 13.
I took this from a NKJV version…
Though I speak (write, draw, act… fill in the blank) with the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, (or tossed off a balcony?) but have not love, it profits me nothing.
Love is patient. It suffers long. (Phil was patient and a long time suffering. Only a couple weeks, three months at the most? I don’t know if you know what it’s like to pass a second in genuine anticipation. I met Hope a couple years ago now, and as we’ve grown better acquainted, the days have lengthened exponentially. I’ve passed days of a thousand years. I’ve measured dreams and wishes that transcend all temporal planes. It’s taken me a million thoughts to take one step nearer to her and a second to fly worlds apart. Time is relative, especially in relation to relationships. Phil was patient. Coincidently, I happen to be scared motionless, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking, it only makes the time I wait longer…)
Love is kind. (Phil was kind. His purposes seemed to be selfless, up until his final fling, so to speak. Perhaps that’s too harsh to be saying… but I’ve had much thought-packed time and I’ve shed my share of tears and I’ll shed more rest assured, that doesn’t change the fact that jumping off of a balcony is a selfish end. I can’t believe that an end so selfish was spawned in selflessness. I’d like to believe in the ability to be truly selfless… I don’t know if I can believe in something that is so fragile, something so easily undone. True kindness is rare. Rare because of how it is qualified.)
Love does not envy. (If love is born of two people’s union as an act of free will, jealousy is a non-issue. You can’t envy what you respect, and you can’t love someone you don’t respect… still, it hurts to see her prefer the company of someone else…)
Love isn’t proud. (Thus, It is humble…
“Humility is seeing yourself the way God sees you.”
Another quip of wisdom from one of my numerous youth pastors.
“And how is that?”
I was genuinely curious, searching, desperate for all the clues I could get on how to live a proper existence. He was prepared for that one though…
“It’s how you really are.”
He didn’t get it. I wanted the secret. The irrefutable key to living life how it is supposed to be so that I could be fulfilled, if in no other way, in the knowledge that whatever I was doing was justified by the only judge that mattered.
“So… how is that?”
A pre-rehearsed coverall answer would not suffice. I wanted a messenger of God to tell me how it was that God envisioned me.
“Well, I guess it would be perfect… insomuch as you are a child of God, but still a sinner, albeit covered by the blood, so I guess that makes us all red.”
Cute. Hardly satisfying, but cute.)
It does not behave rudely. (Phil was, in most instances, a gentleman. I remember once a little old lady reversed right into me… more accurately into my mother’s car’s front right passenger door. Phil was sitting in the passenger seat. I watched as Phil got out of the car. The old lady walked right up to us and blamed me for her cataracts. I maintained control as best I could and was even commended on my behavior by the lady after she spoke to an officer or a lawyer and found out she was at fault. If Phil hadn’t intervened on my behalf with the words to substitute for the ones I was thinking (like Phil I’ve always tried to maintain control of my tongue) I never would have received the praises I did… regardless of my innocence. Phil remembered his manners on all occasions, even when those around us in the bars or clubs had rebelled against decency. The only exception was when Phil and Seth got together. I frequently had to cover my virgin ears, and they usually ended up raping them anyway. There’s something caustic in people… sometimes the reactions are extreme.)
It does not seek its own. (It is self-finding in the midst of self-sacrifice. Love is not seeking itself, it’s offering one’s self, and what better way to see what you have to offer than by holding it out.)
It is not provoked. (I’ve never known a person more difficult to provoke than Frosty. I should know; I tried quite a bit. That whole Frosty thing started as an attempt at provocation and he ended up embracing it. He embraced a lot that would have broken other people... then again, he broke when others may not have. We used to work out together. In high school we were the skinniest guys around, but by the end of our freshman year at collage we had other guys coming up to us for spots and pointers. I did it for three reasons. One, because I thought it would make me a more adequate catch for whoever it was I sought at the time. Two, I was once robbed at knife-point in an elevator. I lived in an apartment on the twenty-second floor on the west side of the mall; I was relieved of five dollars and a few bus tickets by two guys I held the door open for. Nothing kills the desire to be polite like having preferred your assailants. I vowed when the blade was against my throat that I would never again be targeted as easy prey. The third reason; I grew to enjoy it. Phil had only one objective. Go. He wouldn’t stop until his body quit on him, and even then he would have me spot him, lifting five-pound dumbbells, until he wasn’t even able to lift his arm. Once his mind was set, nothing could budge it. Phil would not be provoked to do what he would not have done, or to stop what he thought was necessary to achieve.)
Love thinks no evil. (I’m convinced that that is one of two things… the unattainable standard that qualifies that God is love and we are incapable of being on the same playing field as God, or that it is referring to the blinders that go on when you look at someone you adore. If you don’t know what I mean, try finding faults in the object of your affection during that preliminary stage of infatuation, chances are that if you do… the infatuation won’t last very long, and if you don’t, well, you may have found your Hope.)
Love does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth. (I fall short here. Not because I’m purposely deceitful, but because I’ve led myself to believe that a look is enough. A look is not enough. If love rejoices in the truth, then the truth must be expressed… clearly. I have all these romantic notions that words aren’t necessary… funny that I have to write that notion down… I have looked Hope in the eyes and I’ve been swept away, but there is no love for me until I find the words to say. Phil had a similar problem. He couldn’t say what was necessary… until it slipped out of its own accord. I’m not saying a bit of tactful presentation of truth is necessary… not in love, but I don’t think it could hurt… maybe that’s my problem though… I’m counting on too much tact and not giving truth enough credit.)
Love bears all things.
Love believes all things.
Love hopes all things.
Love endures all things.
Love never fails.
(I can’t say that Phil, or I, or anyone for that matter, is capable of doing any one thing to all things… which makes love impossible for humanity… which often seems an accurate assessment. It’s a good thing that love is more than a feeling… that God is Love.)
Whether there are prophesies, they will fail, whether there are tongues, they will cease, whether there is knowledge, it shall pass away. We know in part, we prophesy in part, but when that which is perfect has come, that which is in part will be done away.
(Imagine… no more halves, just the whole.)
When I was a child I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. (I’m still a child… in so many ways. I have so much stuff to pack up. Phil was twenty when he fell to his death; I think he tripped over something he could have picked up.)
For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. (While this endeavor is partly for Phillip, something he asked me to do, it’s mostly for me, something I need to do, to know who it is that I am, and what, or whom, I seek. Phillip knows and sees now and I wonder if it’s too late… and if it will be too late for me when the mirror breaks and I see face to face.)
And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. (If I’m not in love, I’m afraid of what will become of me should I ever have the privilege. I know I can’t be this love, the one described here, alone, but if there’s a way to receive it, I know I want to, if only to give it away. But I struggle enough with Faith and Hope.)
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