Is this Love?

Is there a pain greater than that of unrequited love?
True love when given is with no expectation of receiving recognition or compensation...this type of self sacrifice is rare in its extreme sense, but I think we all understand the feeling to a lesser yet still painful degree. Well I've been on both sides I'm sure...no one's fault when an attraction isn't mutual but whether there is blame or not, there is pain.
This topic is a major theme in Austen's work Persuasion, where love is found and lost and reunited. Both the main and subplots deal with losing hope of a Love. At the pinnacle of the novel two character are discussing whether men or women are most faithful when love is tested by distance or time or death. Anne defends all woman of heart in saying "All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one, you need not covet it) is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone." She of course is speaking from experience, having been persuaded out of an engagement to, but not her affection for, Cpt Wentworth. Without realising that he at this moment is just opposite the room suspended on every word, she utters encouragement enought to eurge him to speak...er...write:
"I can listen no longer in silence...I am half agony half hope. I offer myself to you again with a heart even your own than when you almost broke it eight and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman or that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been and resentful I have been but never inconstant. You do believe that there is attachment and constancy among men then believe it be most fervent most undeviating in [me] F.W."
Anyways, here is a poem which speaks to a place I have in the past found myself in. Enjoy.

This is Love.

If I rather idle an afternoon with you than with anyone else...

...Is that love?

If I'm intrigued by you, determined to decipher the clues, secretly hoping you always remain a mystery...

...is that love?

What if each hug is a battle to surrender my grasp, because I enjoy your arms around me too much?

What if your fragrance which would drive me to action, also paralyzes me from it?

What if your footsteps behind me bring a slight smile to my lips?

What if my greatest fear is that we find ourselves alone...

...Is that love?

You bring to me your heart, broken and bruised by another,

And even though it may never be recognized, I care.

Your tears sting worst than my own...

...this is Love.

A person died today.
Nothing that doesn't happen everyday, but rarely in my sphere of awareness.

My heart has been unusually heavy especially considering my distant connection with this individual. For the longest time that fact confused me. I suppose I'm burdened because of the hopelessness this person's family must be experiencing.

Celebrating Easter only a few weekends ago and being uniquely struck with the power of the resurrection, this comes as a stark contrast to how we, as children of God, experience death.
I think of the passage I Corinthians 15:54-58, "But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality,"
At salvation Christ's imperishable righteousness is imputed on our account.
Paul continues, "then will come about the saying that is written, "DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP in victory. "O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR VICTORY? O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR STING?"
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
Christ's resurrection removed the effects of sin. For believer's there is still physical death, the separation of soul and body, however the sting is not there. We died with the certainty that to be absent from the body is to be present with the lord not with guilt or fear of condemnation.
Paul concludes with a challenge:
"Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord."

We know we have the Victory and we are supposed to live as though we have Victory by abounding in the Lord's work.
Are we living in light of the Ressurection? Do we serve a living Savior.

Warm Mosaic...

Dear God, Thank you for the beauty and order and color of your creation!
Thank you for both sunshine and rain needed to bloom a rose.
Thank you for life and vibrancy and creativity.
For You and Your Glory alone.

1. handle on bokeh, 2. Orange mood., 3. HDR Memories from Past, 4. Orange Rose, 5. No. 18: Orange, Red and Green, 6. The tulip orchard, 7. a whiff of bokeh, 8. Meeting the pregnant princess of the forest, 9. que tren que tren, 10. Window Hum, 11. evergreen..., 12. Where The Rainbow Starts

Odd fact...We recall only 20 percent of what we hear but 70 percent of what we say.

I found this in an article on why discussion groups on Christianity are an effective way to lead people to Christ. It points out that "when everyone has a fair chance, each participant is greatly influenced by what he discovers and shares with the group. What he hears himself saying about Jesus' claims will be remembered long after he forgets what someone else tells him."

Odd thought...Part of being salt, is bringing out the natural flavor of the food. We can do this by living lives which contrast the world. When we do this we draw-out the innate need for God in the lives of those around us. A genuinely different lifestyle and attitude, flowing from a relationship with God, opens up discussions on Theology as naturally as if we were conversing about politics or weather. If I can answer my friends with scripture and encourage them to research it themselves (perhaps they will, perhaps they won't) then truths they find themselves will begin to impact lives.

I myself will never change anyone apart from God's Word, we are simple called to be the salt. =)

Perhaps, love...

This is the last paragraph from Anne of Avonlea. I like the way it presents a view of how Love can slip so softly into our lives that we may not even notice for a while...

It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare, like a knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps. . . perhaps. . .love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before.

The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.