Many of you probably remember the movie, “Love Story”, released in 1970. It created a storm with a most profound declaration, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” To my mind, that is quite an idiotic statement, for every relationship, especially loving relationships, have times for tender and heartfelt apologies. To assume that if love is true there won’t ever be a need to apologize is to assume that the people involved are perfect and won’t make any mistakes, which of course, is impossible. Bernard Poduska, a marriage and family therapist, suggests nine areas in which couples may need to ask forgiveness:
1- Forgive me for not always being your friend.
2- Forgive me for the times I didn’t place you as my number one priority.
3- Forgive me for the times I have taken your gifts of time, effort, and concern for granted.
4- Forgive me for not being there when you needed me.
5- Forgive me for not accepting a less-than-perfect you.
6- Forgive me for the times I have been selfish.
7- Forgive me for the promises, implied or explicit, that I have broken.
8- Forgive me for not helping you progress to your full potential.
9- Forgive me for not forgiving you>
“I’m sorry”, sincerely extended and genuinely felt, is an accepting of responsibility for those inevitable mistakes. It is an invitation to the other to extend forgiveness. It is compassion for a regrettable situation. Love isn’t never having to say you’re sorry, rather, love means being willing to say you’re sorry, and meaning it.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
empathy
Daphne Kingma says “Empathy is truly one of love’s miracles. In empathy we not only feel sorrow for, but we feel with another person. In empathy we ask ourselves to enter into the experience of others, to feel their sorrow, to know their pain, to experience their fear. Empathy connects us very deeply to others. For in a sense we go inside their feeling selves, that most private of places, and there give them company. Empathy is a spiritual undertaking, for in its capacity to connect us so deeply to one another, it is truly the end of divisiveness, the beginning of peace.”
Soon after he was married, Thomas Moore, the famous 19th century Irish poet, was called away on a business trip. Upon his return, he was met at the door, not by his beautiful bride, but by the family doctor. “Your wife is upstairs,” said the doctor, “but she has asked that you do not come up.” And then Moore learned the terrible truth, his wife had contracted small pox. The disease had left her once flawless skin pocked and terribly scarred. She had taken one look at her reflection in the mirror and commanded that the shutters be drawn and that her husband never see her again. Moore would not listen. He ran upstairs and threw open the door of his wife’s room. It was black as night inside. Not a sound came from the darkness. Groping along the wall, Moore felt for the gas check to light the lamps. A startled cry came from a black corner of the room. “No! No, don’t light the lamps.” More hesitated, swayed by the pleading in the voice. “Go!” she begged, “Please go, this is the greatest gift I can give to you now.” Moore did go. He went down to his study where he sat up most of the night prayerfully writing. Not a poem this time, but a song. He had never written a song before, but now he found it more natural to his mood than simple poetry. He not only wrote the words, he wrote the music, too. And the next morning, as soon as the sun was up, he returned to his wife’s room. He felt his way to a chair and sat down. “Are you awake?” he asked. “I am,” came a voice from the far side of the room, “But you must not ask to see me. You must not press me, Thomas.” “I will sing to you then,” he answered. And so, for the first time, Thomas Moore sang to his wife the song that still lives today:
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.
The song ended. As his voice trailed off on the last note, Moore heard his bride rise. She crossed the room to the window, reached up and slowly drew open the shutters.
Soon after he was married, Thomas Moore, the famous 19th century Irish poet, was called away on a business trip. Upon his return, he was met at the door, not by his beautiful bride, but by the family doctor. “Your wife is upstairs,” said the doctor, “but she has asked that you do not come up.” And then Moore learned the terrible truth, his wife had contracted small pox. The disease had left her once flawless skin pocked and terribly scarred. She had taken one look at her reflection in the mirror and commanded that the shutters be drawn and that her husband never see her again. Moore would not listen. He ran upstairs and threw open the door of his wife’s room. It was black as night inside. Not a sound came from the darkness. Groping along the wall, Moore felt for the gas check to light the lamps. A startled cry came from a black corner of the room. “No! No, don’t light the lamps.” More hesitated, swayed by the pleading in the voice. “Go!” she begged, “Please go, this is the greatest gift I can give to you now.” Moore did go. He went down to his study where he sat up most of the night prayerfully writing. Not a poem this time, but a song. He had never written a song before, but now he found it more natural to his mood than simple poetry. He not only wrote the words, he wrote the music, too. And the next morning, as soon as the sun was up, he returned to his wife’s room. He felt his way to a chair and sat down. “Are you awake?” he asked. “I am,” came a voice from the far side of the room, “But you must not ask to see me. You must not press me, Thomas.” “I will sing to you then,” he answered. And so, for the first time, Thomas Moore sang to his wife the song that still lives today:
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.
The song ended. As his voice trailed off on the last note, Moore heard his bride rise. She crossed the room to the window, reached up and slowly drew open the shutters.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
she was beautiful to him...
He Thought He Knew What Love Was
Their first touch at seventeen was in the park
And the moon was full
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was long and her eyes were blue
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
Another touch at twenty-two on their wedding night
And the stars were bright
She was beautiful to him
And her hair smelled sweet and her lips were full
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
And then again at twenty-five when the baby came
And the sun was high
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was damp and her fingers shook
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
Later on at fifty-four sitting on the porch
All the children gone
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was gray and her forehead lined
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
Their last touch at eighty-five was by her bed
And the moon was full
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was thin and her eyes were closed
And her skin was cold
And she turned to him
And he knew that he knew what love was.
After sixty eight years of laughter and tears
He knew that he knew what love was.
Their first touch at seventeen was in the park
And the moon was full
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was long and her eyes were blue
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
Another touch at twenty-two on their wedding night
And the stars were bright
She was beautiful to him
And her hair smelled sweet and her lips were full
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
And then again at twenty-five when the baby came
And the sun was high
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was damp and her fingers shook
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
Later on at fifty-four sitting on the porch
All the children gone
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was gray and her forehead lined
And her skin was warm
And she turned to him
And he thought he knew what love was.
Their last touch at eighty-five was by her bed
And the moon was full
She was beautiful to him
And her hair was thin and her eyes were closed
And her skin was cold
And she turned to him
And he knew that he knew what love was.
After sixty eight years of laughter and tears
He knew that he knew what love was.
Friday, February 6, 2009
forever
Another line from “The Princess Bride”:
"Death can not stop true love, it can only delay it for a little while."
For those whose love runs deep and true, there is that sure conviction that it surely must last forever, eternally. In other words:
"Forever is not a word...rather a place where two lovers go when true love takes them there."
"True love doesn't have a happy ending because true love doesn't end."
Truly, being with the one who fills, not just your heart, but your whole body and soul with joy, forever, would be heaven. On the other hand, being in a less-than-desirable relationship, forever, well, that would be… let’s just not go there…
"Death can not stop true love, it can only delay it for a little while."
For those whose love runs deep and true, there is that sure conviction that it surely must last forever, eternally. In other words:
"Forever is not a word...rather a place where two lovers go when true love takes them there."
"True love doesn't have a happy ending because true love doesn't end."
Truly, being with the one who fills, not just your heart, but your whole body and soul with joy, forever, would be heaven. On the other hand, being in a less-than-desirable relationship, forever, well, that would be… let’s just not go there…
Thursday, February 5, 2009
"As you wish..."
uxorious
It is doubtful any of us ever had that word on a vocabulary list in school; if we heard it in a spelling bee we wouldn’t rush out to look it up. Quite frankly, the word doesn’t roll off the tongue like other words such as Philadelphia and melancholy. But its meaning is likely to make most wives sigh a wistful sigh and most husbands snicker and roll their eyes.
uxorious adj. Excessively or dotingly fond of, or submissive to, a wife.
OK, maybe not “excessively”. Wesley (of The Princess Bride) had the right idea. He won the heart of fair Buttercup with his endearing phrase, “As you wish…” No request was too small, no desire too great. That simple phrase, always spoken with the most tender sincerity was the hallmark of his devotion to her. As he pointed out, "This is true love. Do you think this happens everyday?"
“As you wish…”
It is doubtful any of us ever had that word on a vocabulary list in school; if we heard it in a spelling bee we wouldn’t rush out to look it up. Quite frankly, the word doesn’t roll off the tongue like other words such as Philadelphia and melancholy. But its meaning is likely to make most wives sigh a wistful sigh and most husbands snicker and roll their eyes.
uxorious adj. Excessively or dotingly fond of, or submissive to, a wife.
OK, maybe not “excessively”. Wesley (of The Princess Bride) had the right idea. He won the heart of fair Buttercup with his endearing phrase, “As you wish…” No request was too small, no desire too great. That simple phrase, always spoken with the most tender sincerity was the hallmark of his devotion to her. As he pointed out, "This is true love. Do you think this happens everyday?"
“As you wish…”
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
...I will come again...
A RED, RED ROSE
Author: Robert Burns
O my luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
Till a'the seas gang dry.
Till a'the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o'life shall run.
And fare thee weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
Author: Robert Burns
O my luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
Till a'the seas gang dry.
Till a'the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o'life shall run.
And fare thee weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
knowing
We've all heard it said that "love is blind". I suppose that means that when one is in love, he is blind to the flaws of the other. That is quite true of a blossoming romance, that time when we put our best foot forward, hoping not to reveal those things about ourselves that we consider to be less than desireable. But being a "blind" lover really is just setting oneself up for a very rude awakening. I rather prefer this perspective of Tom Stoppard: "Love is knowing and being known." It implies completeness, openness and honesty which lend themselves well to a phrase that should be reserved for love that runs deep and true: "I love everything about you!"
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