sensitized, saturated

I had such a day on Sunday. It was a day of love. Every activity, every word, every touch was a little brush with love, so many small chances for me to repeatedly feel how real love is. A lot of days go by without this kind of impact. I guess those days i'm more numb to it, i take it for granted. Its almost impossible to really analyze how things work together to make me pay attention and teach me something i thought i already knew. Of course i know about love. Of course i love people, i love God, i love my dog, i love lots of things. Sunday was just one of those beautiful love-saturated days. I started it off by listening to message about prayer, then things just rolled on from there -- a big family feast preceded by days of thought and preparation, hugs, kisses, reunion, departure. There was playing music and singing for others, travel, coming home and watching an achingly sad family story on tv. . . All I could think was lovelovelovelovelove as i used tissue after tissue to wipe away my tears at the close of the day; watching the story of a wife who lost her best love and friend. It just all hit me. I guess the day's memories and people and words were all in my mind as i sat in the dark with my own best friend and sweetheart and watched this 5-week-in widow and her 4 children, their grief so fresh on camera. . the images of them with their dad and husband before his death. . I could not stop crying. . i couldn't believe how broken i felt. I didn't think i could stand it. Thankfully the story ended before i dissolved!

Yes, the story ended and the day was ending too. . but my thoughts kept going. I could not stop thinking of how beautiful everything is because of love. I felt unusually sensitized and tuned in. I knew it wouldn't last, but i savoured it. As all of this settled in I felt an almost desperate awareness of the importance of love in life. It welled up and over, breaching the walls of my heart to fill my spirit. Love everywhere. . in my house, my grandchildren's handprints on the landing window that i can't bring myself to clean, their childish scribbles on the message chalkboard in the kitchen, the door jamb in the bathroom notched with dates, heights - my girls growing up. . photographs of their babyhood, their school years, little dresses and shoes in keepsake boxes, clumsy, beautiful little gifts from them, my now-dessicated first corsage from Rob, love letters. Love then and love today in the lingering smells of a happy dinner, love in the echoes of music in my mind, love in the thoughts about praying and God longing to hear me speak to him. Love in hellos and goodbyes, love in warm hugs and kisses, love in loss and tragedy. Love in everything, love everywhere.

Its too powerful to be a mere emotion, its too personal to be impersonal, too beautiful to be some random, roaming force that decided to settle in our collective bosom. . and too pure to have its origins in us. Even in its absence - even in dark hatred, love's absence is a gnawing, gaping hole. Is there anything else like this? All of this weightiness seemed to settle over me on Sunday. It seemed almost unbearable, but at the same time the heaviness did not feel crushing. It was more like it held me to the truth of Love, like a balloon weight holds down a helium balloon that untethered, would glibly float and never remain grounded.

On Monday i didn't feel this way. The weekday had begun to crowd in with all its demands and deadlines, its chores and busyness. Still, even in the mundane i know that there is no less love, not an ounce less. . .