Another work week begins—unless you’re in the U.S. and lucky enough to have Presidents’ Day off. I am not among the fortunate, so it’s business as usual for me. Wednesday will be the busy day this week, but unless something unexpected pops up, the rest should be fairly easygoing. I’ll take that.
The bigger story, though, is the weather. We’re supposed to climb above freezing nearly every day this week. Not enough to melt all the snow, but enough to make things sloppy. And since it’s February, this would officially mark the arrival of Vermont’s first Fake Spring.
For those unfamiliar, Vermont doesn’t really have four seasons. We have eleven:
Winter → Fake Spring → Second Winter (usually worse than the first) → Spring of Deception → Third Winter → Mud Season → Actual Spring (which lasts approximately 4–8 days) → Summer (gorgeous) → False Fall → Second Summer (also gorgeous) → Actual Fall.
Right now, we’re squarely in that hopeful, misleading stretch where the sun feels warmer, the air softens just a bit, and you start to believe we’ve turned a corner. We haven’t. Second Winter is lurking. It always is.
Still, I’ll enjoy the small mercies—slightly warmer afternoons, a bit more daylight, the sense that we’re inching toward something brighter, even if it’s two or three fake-outs away. Fake Spring may live up to its name, but I’m willing to be fooled for a few days.
I hope your week is steady and kind, wherever you are in your own seasonal cycle.
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. There were roses and candlelight, sweet messages and quiet longings. For some, it was joyful. For others, it stirred complicated emotions. For many LGBTQ+ Christians, days like yesterday can awaken old questions: Is my love real? Is it holy? Is it enough?
Today we turn to 1 Corinthians 13 — often called the “Love Chapter.” Paul does not define love by cultural expectations or by who is allowed to participate in it. He defines love by its character. In 1 Corinthians 13:4, he writes, “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant.” This is not sentimentality. It is substance. Love is not prideful. It does not seek to dominate. It does not diminish another.
Then Paul deepens the portrait: “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails” (1 Corinthians 13:7–8). Real love shows up in hardship. It carries weight. It hopes when hope feels fragile. It remains when walking away would be easier. This kind of love is resilient and faithful.
For those who have been told their love is invalid simply because of who they love, these verses shift the focus. The question is not whether your love fits someone else’s comfort. The question is whether your love reflects patience, kindness, endurance, humility, and truth. Paul never limits love by gender; he reveals love by its fruit.
He concludes with steadying words: “And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13). Faith sustains us. Hope carries us forward. But love is the greatest gift — the one that remains.
The Apostle John echoes this truth in 1 John 4:7–12: “Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.” John goes further still: “Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” He reminds us that God’s love was revealed in Christ — embodied, sacrificial, and self-giving. “No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.”
When we love with patience and kindness, we make the invisible God visible.
John also writes, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). Many LGBTQ+ believers learned fear before they learned love — fear of rejection, fear of being wrong, fear that God’s love might not include them. But perfect love drives fear out. Fear is not the language of God. Love is.
Paul reinforces this in Romans 13:8: “Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.” And in Romans 13:10, he makes it unmistakably clear: “Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.” If love fulfills the law, then love cannot at the same time be its violation. Love that does no harm, that seeks the good of another, that practices patience and kindness — that love stands within the heart of God’s command.
The day after Valentine’s Day invites us beyond roses and romance into something deeper and steadier. Whether you are partnered or single, celebrated or unseen, your worth is not defined by a holiday or by someone else’s theology. You are invited into the love that bears all things, hopes all things, endures all things — the love that never fails. Faith and hope sustain us, but the greatest of these is love. Perfect love casts out fear. Love fulfills the law. And at the center of it all, beyond every argument and every doubt, stands this unshakable truth: God is love.
Happy Valentine’s Day, dear friends—may you feel deeply loved today, whether that love comes from a partner, a friend, your chosen family, or the quiet, steadfast grace that reminds you you are worthy of love. 💕
My tour yesterday seemed to go exceptionally well. I could feel the energy in the room, the attentiveness, the thoughtful questions. When the university’s social media featured the tour afterward, it felt like a quiet affirmation that the work we do matters. Moments like that make the preparation and effort worthwhile.
One thing I’ve learned about myself over the years is that I can usually immerse myself in something like a tour and push a migraine to the back of my mind. Adrenaline and focus carry me through. The problem is what happens afterward. When the event ends and things go back to normal, I tend to crash—and the migraine comes roaring back, worse than before. That’s exactly what happened yesterday. I ended up going home and going straight to bed, letting my body do what it needed to do.
Thankfully, I’m feeling better this morning and can take it easy while I work from home. I’m grateful for that flexibility.
And then there’s the calendar: today is Friday the 13th.
I’ve always had a touch of triskaidekaphobia—the irrational fear of the number 13. My paternal grandmother was wonderfully superstitious, and she passed more than a few of those notions down to me. Not black cats—Isabella would never allow that—but other things.
She was adamant that if you were walking with someone and the two of you came to a post, a tree, or any obstacle, you must not split and pass on opposite sides. If you did, you had to go back and pass on the same side, or something terrible might happen. If you killed a snake, it had to be draped over a fence to guarantee rain. And the strangest superstition of all: if you sneezed at the dinner table, you had to get up and walk to the door before you could sit back down—otherwise, a family member would die. More than once, I pushed my chair back, walked solemnly to the back door, touched it, and returned to my plate before I could resume eating.
Looking back, I smile. Those rituals were strange, yes—but they were also part of her world, her way of trying to exert a little order over an unpredictable life.
Interestingly, my mother and her mother both considered 13 to be lucky—after all, they were both born on the 13th. Maybe the number isn’t so ominous after all. Maybe it’s simply a reminder of the women who shaped me.
Hopefully, today will be entirely uneventful.
And since today is Friday, February 13th, that means tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. I want to send my love out to everyone who reads this blog. I keep writing each day not only for myself, but also for you. Your quiet presence, your comments, your encouragement—they matter more than you know.
So wherever you are, and whatever tomorrow looks like for you, know that you are appreciated.
I woke up again in the middle of the night with a migraine. I was able to take some medicine and get back to sleep, but when I woke up this morning, it was still there—lingering and stubborn. My throat is still sore too, so I made a cup of tea with honey to try to soothe it before heading out.
If I didn’t have two important things to take care of at work today—things I can’t really hand off to anyone else—I would probably call in sick. I’ll give my VIP tour first thing this morning and finish a few preparations for next week’s program. After that, if I’m still not feeling better, I’ll head home and rest.
I’m hoping the migraine eases as the morning goes on. Fingers crossed that everything goes as planned—and that if I need to leave once the priority work is done, I can do so without a problem.
Joe
The Closet Professor 