"Charity suffereth long, and is kind..." ( I Corinthians 13:1-13)
What is love?
Years ago, I had a friend and it was common among us both to walk to each others houses - daily.
Sometimes I would go to her house and knock on the door. Someone would answer the door, usually the grandmother or the mother, and I would ask could my friend play. They would open the door and let me in. On occasions, they would be seated at the table eating a meal. As I would walk in they would ask me would I like to eat with them. I would tell them "thank you, but I'll wait outside or I'll come back later." They would say "no, come on in." I would then make my way to sit in the living room adjoining the dining room.
The father would then ask me if I wanted to go to the land with them. (They had land where he had made a lake. They had a lakehouse, and golf carts we could ride around the lake. We swam and fished and just ran around.) I would say, "Yes." He would then say, "If you going with us, you need to get up to this table and eat, no one gets to go unless they eat." I got up to the table and ate.
At the land, I remember he once told me he would pay me $5.00 an hour to pick up potatoes. At the time, $5.00 and hour was way more than minimum wage (as I later learned).
He had a tractor and plowed a certain area. We went behind the tractor - I never saw so many potatoes. We picked them all up. I remember the feeling of joy and pride when we got to the end of the area and there were no more potatoes - until I saw him coming again with the tractor. He plowed the area again, and there were more potatoes! We picked the field again.
I remember us sitting all together shelling butterbeans - until my finger was worn.
On the way home, he would stop at a little country store and buy us all a candy bar and a soda.
They had a large house, but it did not feel like a museum. We played pool and ping pong and went to the farm and rode ponies.
I remember the house and the things, but without love, these things would become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
"Love suffereth long, and is kind...vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up..."
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What is love?
Years ago, I had a friend and it was common among us both to walk to each others houses - daily.
Sometimes I would go to her house and knock on the door. Someone would answer the door, usually the grandmother or the mother, and I would ask could my friend play. They would open the door and let me in. On occasions, they would be seated at the table eating a meal. As I would walk in they would ask me would I like to eat with them. I would tell them "thank you, but I'll wait outside or I'll come back later." They would say "no, come on in." I would then make my way to sit in the living room adjoining the dining room.
The father would then ask me if I wanted to go to the land with them. (They had land where he had made a lake. They had a lakehouse, and golf carts we could ride around the lake. We swam and fished and just ran around.) I would say, "Yes." He would then say, "If you going with us, you need to get up to this table and eat, no one gets to go unless they eat." I got up to the table and ate.
At the land, I remember he once told me he would pay me $5.00 an hour to pick up potatoes. At the time, $5.00 and hour was way more than minimum wage (as I later learned).
He had a tractor and plowed a certain area. We went behind the tractor - I never saw so many potatoes. We picked them all up. I remember the feeling of joy and pride when we got to the end of the area and there were no more potatoes - until I saw him coming again with the tractor. He plowed the area again, and there were more potatoes! We picked the field again.
I remember us sitting all together shelling butterbeans - until my finger was worn.
On the way home, he would stop at a little country store and buy us all a candy bar and a soda.
They had a large house, but it did not feel like a museum. We played pool and ping pong and went to the farm and rode ponies.
I remember the house and the things, but without love, these things would become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
"Love suffereth long, and is kind...vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up..."
I remember love.
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