Love is gentle if sometimes amused warmth for annoying and deeply disappointing people, especially ourselves. Love is someone who will draw near when you cry. Love plops in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn and you. Love plops but love also flies. Love reveals the beauty of sketchy people like us to ourselves. Love holds up the sacred mirror. Love builds rickety greenhouses for our wilder seeds to grow. Love can be reckless (Jesus is good at this), or meek as my dog, or carry a briefcase. Love is the old man in the park teaching little kids to play the violin; much time spent tuning, the children hearing their way into the key he is playing. Love tiptoes and love lumbers like an elephant, it naps on top of your chest like a cat. It gooses you, snickers, smooths your hair. Love is being with a person wherever they are, however they are acting. Ugh. (A lot of things seem to come more easily to God.)
--Anne Lamott, Dusk, Night, Dawn
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