So if I see even the smallest flicker of love, grace or tenderness I want to protect it. I want to fan it so that it might grow. I don't want to move through life extinguishing the flames. I don't want to be the cold, chilling wind blowing the candles out. There are too few. And the night is very dark and cold.
Maybe on some far eternal horizon God will stand in judgment of all the ways we warmed ourselves with whatever affection we could find. Or of how we sheltered those who loved in ways that others found unacceptable.
Maybe. Maybe one day we will plead for a mercy that will not be granted. Maybe.
Shall we be asked to repent of love?
No one knows. So here with you, huddled in the cold blackness, I make my choice.
I refuse to blow the candles out.
--unpublished thoughts about empathy, loneliness and love