Love is patient; love is kind;
love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.
It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends.
1 Corinthians 13:5-7 (New Revised Standard Version)

Eva Cassidy’s cover of Sting’s “Fields of Gold” is one of the most perfect love songs ever recorded.  There is a depth, a gentleness… It is not about the flash of infatuation, or the fire of the first rush of excitement and discovery, but surety and security and the long years together. About knowledge and devotion.

It is about loving someone, not merely being in love with someone. Being in love is fireworks and spectacular sunsets, loving someone is a lot more pedestrian. It is finding joy in the little things — in holding hands, in watching old movies together, in laughing at the same jokes.

If you are lucky, being in love with someone deepens to simply loving them.*

I’ve heard people express confusion how someone could remain friends with their exes.  I understand: it is because the love they had for their former partner was genuine.  Because one of the marks of genuine love is that, no matter what happens, you only want the best for them.  You want them to be happy, healthy, and whole, even if you or they need to move on.

Real love creates real people, much as in The Velveteen Rabbit it creates real rabbits.

This does not apply merely to romantic relationships, either.  My best friends, whom I do love dearly, are those I trust enough to tell about the darkest parts of myself.  They know, and they still care about me.  And I know them, and their faults, and I love them anyway.

This past week I emailed a dear friend whom I had lost track of.  She had reached out to me several years ago, and I in shame and confusion about the way my life was going at that point failed to respond.  Finally, four years later, I wrote her an email, including all the parts of my life that are sore and painful and which I hesitate to admit to anyone.

She wrote back, telling me in turn about her life.  She began by thanking me for the letter, the update and the trust, and ended by saying that our friendship was important to her, that it was worth nurturing.  Every time I read her email, I cry.  A wall has fallen, and the relief is almost painful.

There are so many people that I have loved whom I need to reclaim.  While it is true that some people are friends forever, and others simply for a season,  perhaps I have been too quick to mistake people  who are the former as being the latter.

*There is the case, of course, when one person moves into “loving” and the other person doesn’t.  That tends to be quite painful for everyone involved.