Authentic love is deciding to live on a one-way street where all the arrows point down the street and not a single one of them point back up to where I’m standing.

There is this utterly fascinating rumor of a glorious sort of love. And even though we are crafted for it, the best that we can do is to catch the slightest hem of it before it slips away yet again. For we have yet to learn that what we seek is not the love of another person, but the love of God coursing through another person.

Maybe we don’t ever feel that sweetly untainted and wholly majestic kind of love that takes every longing captive because we are hopelessly entangled in the illogical fear that despite all of love’s grand goodness, it might not be good enough to keep us safe.

The eyes of love have 20/20 vision when focused on another, and become entirely blind when focused on ourselves.

If I have refused to risk, I have in the self-same decision refused to love. And if indeed I have refused to love, tragically I have refused to live. And when will I realize that that in and of itself is an unacceptable risk.