I have been watching my Dad learn to love his life in the face of death. I have watched as he, perhaps for the first time, has discovered that he is truly cherished just because of him. I have been watching as love has mended all of his broken places. It's not about all of his life accomplishments or the things that he can do for people or even his strength of character. He is loved just because he is. In realizing this, it is as if he can finally set all of those other things down, as if he can breathe in the light because love has set him free.
Love is funny in that way. It barges in, unannounced, and alters the very fabric of our souls. Love is not a "choose-your-own-adventure" story, it is a train that you hop not knowing where it will take you, an ocean that you swim in, a narrative of the heart written in the language of Heaven. Witnessing even the small moments of my Father's story compels me to see life differently, to dare to set my own heart free. I want to live my life as a love story. I want to see where it will take me when I loosen my grip on the panic, when I decide that for all of my efforts I cannot contrive one ounce of meaning. So, without intending to, my Dad has helped to give me perhaps the greatest gift I will ever be given: For the first time in my life, I, too, believe in love.
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