The Gift of Love

“And now faith, hope, and love remain, these three, and the greatest of these is love.”

1 Corinthians 13:13

There is something profoundly grounding about these words from 1 Corinthians. In a world that often measures worth by success, status, or acceptance, the Apostle Paul reminds us that, in the end, only three things endure: faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.

For LGBTQ+ people, this truth carries particular weight. Too often, we have been told—explicitly or subtly—that we must earn love, prove ourselves worthy of it, or change who we are in order to receive it. But 1 Corinthians 13 dismantles that notion entirely. Love, as Paul describes it, is not conditional. It is not earned. It is a gift—and one that reflects the very nature of God.

Paul writes: “If I speak in the tongues of humans and of angels but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthians 13:1). In other words, no matter how eloquent, faithful, or outwardly “righteous” we may appear, without love, it is empty. Faith that excludes, condemns, or harms is not aligned with the love Paul describes.

He continues: “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude” (1 Corinthians 13:4). Imagine what it means to apply this not only to how we treat others, but how we treat ourselves. Many LGBTQ+ individuals carry wounds—shame, rejection, internalized doubt. But the love God offers is patient with our healing. It is kind to our fears. It does not shame us for who we are.

“It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no record of wrongs” (1 Corinthians 13:5). How different this is from the voices that keep score—of sins, identities, or perceived failures. Divine love does not tally our worthiness. It embraces us fully, as we are.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful lines is this: “It does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth” (1 Corinthians 13:6). The truth of who you are—your identity, your capacity to love, your place in this world—is not something to be hidden or denied. It is something to be rejoiced in. You are not a mistake. You are not outside the reach of grace. You are, in fact, a reflection of it.

Paul continues with a vision of love that endures: “It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends” (1 Corinthians 13:7–8). In a world where relationships, institutions, and even faith communities may falter, this promise remains: love—true, divine love—does not fail you.

And so we return to the closing verse: “And now faith, hope, and love remain, these three, and the greatest of these is love.” Faith sustains us. Hope carries us forward. But love—love is what defines us, what connects us, and what reveals God most clearly.

Where have you experienced love that reflects God’s patience and kindness? And where might you need to extend that same love—to yourself or to others?

May we rest in the assurance that we are created in love and for love, seen through a compassionate and gracious gaze that is patient, kind, and without condemnation. In moments when judgment—whether from others or from within—tries to take hold, may we remember that love keeps no record of wrongs and does not insist on its own way. And as we move through the world, may our lives reflect that same enduring love—one that bears, believes, hopes, and endures all things, a love that never ends.


Pic of the Day


Moment of Zen: Sunrise/Sunset


Pic of the Day


Taking My Time

It’s Friday, and I’m back on my regular schedule of working from home. It’s always nice not to have to go anywhere—to relax with a cup of coffee and not worry about rushing to get ready. I can take my time.

I have a few things to do today, but mostly I expect I’ll be preparing for a meeting at the end of the day. I’m not quite sure how I feel about it—somewhere between trepidation, nervousness, and maybe even a little excitement. I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

I actually talked to my doctor about it a bit yesterday. He’s been treating a plantar wart on my foot with cryotherapy. I hate even saying I have a wart, but they’re fairly common—and they can be quite painful, which mine has been. Still, I haven’t really minded the visits, because it gives me a chance to talk with him.

He’s been my doctor since I moved to Vermont, and I feel more at ease with him than with any doctor I’ve had before. He’s always positive and enthusiastic, but also serious and compassionate when it matters. I feel very fortunate to have lucked out with him.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a great day—and a wonderful weekend.


Pic of the Day


I Am Not I

I Am Not I

by Juan Ramón Jiménez

I am not I.
        I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
the one who remains silent when I talk,
the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
the one who takes a walk where I am not,
the one who will remain standing when I die.


Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day, a celebration that encourages people to carry a poem with them—literally in a pocket, a wallet, or on a phone—and share it with others throughout the day. It’s a simple idea, but a powerful one: that poetry is not meant to sit quietly on a shelf, but to travel with us, to meet us where we are, and perhaps to say something we didn’t know we needed to hear.

When I started thinking about what poem I wanted to carry today, I realized I wanted something about finding oneself. Not in the grand, dramatic sense, but in the quieter, more honest way that happens over time—through reflection, contradiction, and those moments when we catch a glimpse of who we really are.

That’s what led me to this poem.

Jiménez writes of a self that is both present and just out of reach—a companion we walk beside but do not fully know. It’s a haunting idea, but also a comforting one. There is a part of us that is patient, that forgives, that waits for us to catch up to it. A self that is perhaps truer than the one we show to the world.

I think many of us, especially those of us who have had to navigate questions of identity, faith, or belonging, know this feeling well. There is the self we’ve been told to be, the self we’ve tried to be, and somewhere alongside us, the self we are becoming.

Poetry has a way of naming that space.

If I were to carry a poem in my pocket today, it would be this one—not because it gives me answers, but because it reminds me that the search itself is part of the journey. That perhaps finding oneself is not about arriving somewhere new, but about recognizing the one who has been walking beside us all along.

About the Poem

“I Am Not I” is a brief but deeply philosophical meditation on identity. In just a few lines, Jiménez presents the self as divided—one part visible and active, the other quiet, observant, and enduring.

The poem resists a fixed definition of identity. Instead, it suggests that who we are is layered:

  • the outward self that speaks and acts
  • the inward self that watches, forgives, and persists

The final line—“the one who will remain standing when I die”—adds a spiritual dimension, hinting at a self that transcends the physical or temporal. Whether read psychologically, philosophically, or spiritually, the poem invites us to consider that our truest self may not always be the one we immediately recognize.

Its brevity is part of its power. Like the best “pocket poems,” it can be read in a moment but linger in the mind far longer.


About the Poet

Juan Ramón Jiménez (1881–1958) was a Spanish poet and one of the most important literary figures of the 20th century. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1956 for his lyrical poetry, which is known for its clarity, emotional depth, and pursuit of what he called “pure poetry.”

Jiménez’s work often explores themes of beauty, memory, and the inner life. His writing evolved over time from richly ornamented early poems to a more stripped-down, essential style—seeking precision and truth in language.

He is perhaps best known for Platero y yo, a poetic prose work beloved for its tenderness and reflection on life and loss. Though widely read, especially in the Spanish-speaking world, many of his shorter lyrical poems—like “I Am Not I”—continue to resonate for their quiet insight into the human experience.


What poem would you carry in your pocket today?


Sleeping In

I have a doctor appointment later this morning and a dentist appointment this afternoon, so I’m not working today. I’m going back to sleep.


Pic of the Day


Borrowed Sunlight

Vermont might be known as the Green Mountain State, but it often feels like the Gray Sky State. Most people I know take Vitamin D because the sun can be such a rare guest. The past few days, though, have been a welcome exception—bright, clear, and almost generous with their light. Of course, today’s sunshine is apparently our last for a while. Rain is moving in tonight and tomorrow, which we do need. It’s been so dry that wildfires have already started to pop up, something that always feels a bit out of place here.

Still, I’m glad to wake up feeling better this morning and able to appreciate the sunlight, even if I’ll spend most of it inside the museum. It figures that the day I’m free to be out and about, the clouds will roll back in and bring the rain with them. That seems to be the way of things—sun when you’re busy, rain when you’re not.

I suppose that just makes days like today feel a little more precious.