My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Risks
Because I love you I may sometimes hurt you. Love is like that. If I trust you, you may one day cause me pain. It is that way with trust. But because we believe in each other it does not end with the hurt or pain, but grows into something more. If love is real, if we can risk its growing, it can be what God is and what we are meant to be.
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