There’s an annual phenomenon afoot this month. It’s February and we’ve again become a nation of pink. Pink is everywhere in stores advertising all the essentials for the celebration, this weekend, of the heart, of love, of all things sweet. The universal symbol for the big day bears no resemblance to the vital, if unsexy, lumpish organ in our chests by the same name. The heart is understood around the world to represent, in a lovely, symmetrical way, love in its various forms (the anatomically correct version would hold far less appeal). I’m not in any way suggesting that this yearly outlay of cash should cease. I’m as happy as the next person to stimulate the economy. And since no one wants Hallmark or Godiva or FTD or Ben & Jerry’s to go into bankruptcy, we collectively bow to the cultural pressure of pink. (If you’ve not yet made your pink contribution, there’s still time.)

But there’s another love which defies description in its scope and permanence and intensity – the Love of our Heavenly Father who, himself, is LOVE. We have his precious collection of sixty-six books telling story after story after story of this mysteriously beautiful gift, this incomprehensibly receptive and forgiving and longsuffering gift, this life-producing gift, this from-sin-rescuing gift, this see-everything-love-anyway gift. And then we have our own stories of personal encounters with this gift that we are compelled to tell and tell again, first for our own benefit, refreshing our memories at his goodnesses to us, then for the benefit of those who listen. We have songwriters using the whole spectrum of genres and instruments who help us in telling of it in our worship and adoration and praise. We have thousands and thousands of books taking a stab at telling of it, enriching our souls, building up our faith, in the reading. We have artists in all media struggling to adequately portray this gift of love, stirring wonder and elation and lump-in-your-throat joy in viewing their exquisite mastery. We owe them all an incredible debt of gratitude. Beyond that, every day is all-new, replenished, sated even, with the dizzying majesty of this powerful gift of love that invades us. Now, go ahead and have some of that chocolate. See y’all tomorrow at 10 AM.  PD

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