She loves me, she loves me not ...
Cell group last night was interesting. Towards the end, we were sort of split into the "older sibling" and "younger sibling" gang, each complaining that our parents loved the other sibling more.
It's almost as if love were a finite object that can and needs to be cut up into definite measurable portions. Does this mean someone can only love me so much, beyond which he or she will run out of love, either for me, or for someone else ? Or is love an infinite fountain that expresses itself in a myriad of ways to different people, and itself being experienced differently despite being expressed the same way ? (am i making sense tonight ?)
We define love in our own confined myopic realities. Because of that, we expect the expression of love to fit into our ability, or inability to experience it. Should we be telling others how and when to love us - as if we were the expert in dishing it out ? Or should we humbly and thankfully accept its creativity ?
Teach me to love, as I learn to accept love.
It's almost as if love were a finite object that can and needs to be cut up into definite measurable portions. Does this mean someone can only love me so much, beyond which he or she will run out of love, either for me, or for someone else ? Or is love an infinite fountain that expresses itself in a myriad of ways to different people, and itself being experienced differently despite being expressed the same way ? (am i making sense tonight ?)
We define love in our own confined myopic realities. Because of that, we expect the expression of love to fit into our ability, or inability to experience it. Should we be telling others how and when to love us - as if we were the expert in dishing it out ? Or should we humbly and thankfully accept its creativity ?
Teach me to love, as I learn to accept love.
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