Seven Simple Words

“I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

I had been disappointed and hurt. I felt as though another had chosen sides in a disagreement without considering my point of view. In my opinion, she hadn’t acted in a biblical manner.

For months, we didn’t speak. If we met in public, we smiled politely but avoided both eye contact and one another. I resented those who continued spending time with her, those who seemed oblivious or insensitive to the pain I felt she had caused me.

Many times I prayed, asking for the ability to forgive. Every time I thought I had, the anger came creeping back. I nursed it and allowed it to fester. In the middle of many sleepless nights I rehearsed my arguments and laid out my case, constructing a solid theological defense as to why I was right and she was wrong. My argument was airtight. Given the opportunity, I figured, I would nail her to the wall until she conceded she had done me wrong.

And then the day arrived.  I found myself alone with her in an empty church classroom. We exchanged small talk, pregnant with chilly silences.

“I feel like we have some unfinished business,” she said.

She had given me my opening. I began laying out my side of the story, wanting her to acknowledge the pain she had caused me.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Will you forgive me?”

I stopped, stunned. Then I began again, “I’m sorry, too. But you see . . .”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Will you forgive me?”

She didn’t give me a chance to finish my argument, to rehash all the details of who had said what to whom and in what tone of voice. She simply asked me to forgive her.

She didn’t offer her words lightly, or in a way that made me feel as though she was dismissing me or wanting to sweep everything under the proverbial rug. She also didn’t say, “I’m sorry if I offended you,” or “I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding,” or “I’m sorry, but here’s my side.”  She spoke the words simply and honestly, from the heart, as though grieved by the distance which divided us for so long and longing for it to be bridged.

She was offering to own her part of our problem and asking for healing and reconciliation. My friend sat before me extending the opportunity to practice the life-giving grace of the gospel, the unconditional forgiveness of sin. And I was undone.

As she reached her hand and her heart across the divide, my arguments became pointless and irrelevant. I saw them revealed as the flimsy tools of the enemy they were, designed to keep us apart and discredit the gospel.  My carefully constructed arguments fell away from my heart as I offered the same seven, simple, life-giving words back to my friend.

Forgiveness is an easy concept to understand, an impossible one to put into practice apart from the grace of God. By using seven simple words my friend, my sister in Christ, humbly demonstrated how to begin the transaction. The practice of forgiveness requires both a giving and a taking, and each of these is a gift to the other.

My friend showed me the beauty of offering these seven simple words, the practice of both extending and receiving forgiveness. I try, as a follower of Jesus, not to say and do things which are hurtful to others. But I fail miserably and often. When I am honest with myself, I know I have ample opportunity to practice saying these words. I’m learning to say them to my children, hoping they will learn sooner than I did the beauty of resting in forgiveness both offered and received.

Linking with Ann, considering the spiritual practice of forgiveness:

And with emily at imperfect prose: (Please stop by her place, joining her in prayer and giving today)

What Dreams May Come

Tucked inside the final pages of a collection of stories by Lewis Carroll, I found printed a letter Carroll had written which was titled, An Easter Greeting to Every Child Who Loves "Alice". In it, he wrote of waking from dreams and experiencing the joy of resurrection. When he was younger, my son used to experience frequent terrifying nightmares. Perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to this piece. And, at the moment, I feel trapped in a bit of a bad dream myself and find hope in Carroll's images.

I just learned that this letter is in the public domain and, since it is nearly Easter, decided to share it with you. May it help you to feel your life in every limb.

And now, I think I will go pick up a copy of Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland and a bag of Jelly Bellies and enjoy.

DEAR CHILD,

Please to fancy, if you can, that you are reading a real letter, from a real friend whom you have seen, and whose voice you can seem to yourself to hear wishing you, as I do now with all my heart, a happy Easter.

Do you know that delicious dreamy feeling when one first wakes on a summer morning, with the twitter of birds in the air, and the fresh breeze coming in at the open window--when, lying lazily with eyes half shut, one sees as in a dream green boughs waving, or waters rippling in a golden light? It is a pleasure very near to sadness, bringing tears to one's eyes like a beautiful picture or poem. And is not that a Mother's gentle hand that undraws your curtains, and a Mother's sweet voice that summons you to rise? To rise and forget, in the bright sunlight, the ugly dreams that frightened you so when all was dark--to rise and enjoy another happy day, first kneeling to thank that unseen Friend, who sends you the beautiful sun?

Are these strange words from a writer of such tales as "Alice"? And is this a strange letter to find in a book of nonsense? It may be so. Some perhaps may blame me for thus mixing together things grave and gay; others may smile and think it odd that any one should speak of solemn things at all, except in church and on a Sunday: but I think--nay, I am sure--that some children will read this gently and lovingly, and in the spirit in which I have written it.

For I do not believe God means us thus to divide life into two halves--to wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out-of-place to even so much as mention Him on a week-day. Do you think He cares to see only kneeling figures, and to hear only tones of prayer--and that He does not also love to see the lambs leaping in the sunlight, and to hear the merry voices of the children, as they roll among the hay? Surely their innocent laughter is as sweet in His ears as the grandest anthem that ever rolled up from the "dim religious light" of some solemn cathedral?

And if I have written anything to add to those stores of innocent and healthy amusement that are laid up in books for the children I love so well, it is surely something I may hope to look back upon without shame and sorrow (as how much of life must then be recalled!) when my turn comes to walk through the valley of shadows.

This Easter sun will rise on you, dear child, feeling your "life in every limb," and eager to rush out into the fresh morning air--and many an Easter-day will come and go, before it finds you feeble and gray-headed, creeping wearily out to bask once more in the sunlight--but it is good, even now, to think sometimes of that great morning when the "Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing in his wings."

Surely your gladness need not be the less for the thought that you will one day see a brighter dawn than this--when lovelier sights will meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters--when angel-hands shall undraw your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving Mother breathed shall wake you to a new and glorious day--and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a night that is past!

Your affectionate friend,
LEWIS CARROLL.
EASTER, 1876.

Linking with Ann, considering The Practice of Easter:

Ahem

When my children were young, it was important to me that they learn manners.   High on my list of priorities was teaching them the importance of saying, “Thank you.”  As soon as they began forming words, I would say, “Thank you,” to them each time I handed them something.  Because they parroted everything they heard, they would say, “Thank you,” in response, learning to pair these words with the receiving of a gift.

                                                                                

Each year at Christmas, thank you cards and stamps became standard gifts tucked into my children’s stockings.  It wasn’t always easy getting my kids to write their after-Christmas thank you notes, but having the tools on hand made the task one step easier.

Another means I used to encourage thanks-giving was what I call my clearing-of-the-throat technique.  Whenever I thought my children needed to be prompted to say, “Thank you,” I would clear my throat.  Often, if I had taken them some place special or even driven through a fast food pickup window, I would simply stop the car, clear my throat, and wait.  Soon, they learned to say, “Thank you, Mommy,” merely at the sound.

Sometimes, I would hear my children say, “Thank you, Mommy,” for no apparent reason, and then I would realize I had cleared my throat just because I needed to clear my throat.

Pavlov would have been truly impressed.

It seems, sometimes, that I need similar tools, similar promptings to encourage me to express my gratitude.  It has been a profound help during this past year having a weekly deadline to link with Ann and others at the Gratitude Community.  When I am tempted to fear the brokenness of this world or doubt God’s goodness to me, it is helpful to have an appointment that calls me to stop and consider the multitude of ways in which He has protected and blessed me.

At other times, I think it would be helpful to have my heavenly Father clear His throat and prompt me to stop and give thanks to Him.  And, because my Father is so good and knows what I need before I ask, He does this for me.  In the pages of His word, I hear the mighty voice that called all of creation into being clear it’s throat and say,

Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of men!  For he satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul he fills with good things.  Psalm 107:8, 9

Ahem.

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for all us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?  Romans 8:1, 32

Ahem, again.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places,…in him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us….For by grace you have been saved through faith.  And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.  Ephesians 1:3, 7, 8; 2:8

And again.

His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises…2 Peter 1: 3,4

Ahem.  Ahem.

Thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift!  2 Corinthians 9:15

Ahem.  Amen and Amen.

Linking with Ann who has graciously invited us to discuss the spiritual practice of giving thanks.

Update:  Also joining Faith Barista and her conversation about thankfulness:

What My Eyes Have Seen

When I first read Ann Voskamp’s post about naming the year I thought, “Huh.  That’s kind of interesting.  A little weird.  Not something I’d ever heard anyone talking about in any of the churches I’ve attended.  Ever.  But interesting.”

Then I thought, “I wonder how one even goes about naming a year?”

The idea of naming a year seemed strange until I kept bumping into the same single word:  See.  In my reading, in sermons, in hymns, in scripture, I kept coming across calls to lift up my eyes, to look, to be watchful, to behold, to turn my eyes upon Jesus.

To see.

For much of this past year, I have felt as though my family was stuck in a holding pattern.  My son’s plans for the future seem stalled; we’re not sure how or when certain details will be worked out.  He is frustrated.  I am impatient.  We’ve been called to walk by faith, not by sight.

…we do not know what to do but our eyes are on you… 2 Chronicles 20:12

Until this year, I routinely prayed for God’s presence with me and with those I love during periods of uncertainty, of hardship, of testing, of fear.  Somewhere along the way, I was reminded of these words, spoken by Jesus just before He returned to His Father:

…And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.  Matthew 28:20

Jesus is always with me.  Always.  I just need to ask for eyes to see how and when.

As I’ve begun praying specifically for eyes to glimpse Christ’s presence with me, these are some of the things I’ve seen:

• Prior to dropping my son off for his military entrance exam, I stopped by a local nursery.  For a split second, a hummingbird hovered inside one of the greenhouses.  I’ve long considered hummingbirds as love notes from the hand of my Father, sent to bring me joy and remind me how much He loves me

• While at the recruiting station, I noticed another young man wearing a huge gold cross around his neck.  A friend wondered aloud whether or not the young man truly belonged to Jesus, whether or not the cross had meaning to him.  While I hope that he has faith, I’m confident that the cross around that young man’s neck was not there by accident.  My Father intended me to see it.

•  An expensive piece of cherry furniture in my home was damaged when dish washing detergent somehow got dripped across it.  It was an accident, of course.  It was also an opportunity for accusations of carelessness to be made, for anger and defensiveness to arise.  Fortunately, my husband was able to buff out the markings that had bleached the wood--the markings that formed the shape of a cross.

•  Twice, during two separate appointments in two different settings, when my anxiety level was sky-high, people with whom I was meeting revealed themselves as Christ-followers, people who belong to Jesus.

These are but a few examples of the things I’ve noticed once I began praying for God to open my eyes to His presence.  Now, maybe I’m reading too much into these circumstances, seeing what I want to see and interpreting events the way I want to interpret them.

Or maybe, just maybe, God really does answer prayer.  And maybe, just maybe, scripture speaks truth and Jesus is always, always with me.

Maybe finding a name for a year isn't so strange after all.

Linking with Ann, considering the spiritual practice of seeing:

See.

(This is a piece I had written last spring.  Ann has kindly asked for posts concerning the spiritual practice of seeing, so I am taking the liberty of reposting)

Tell Graham to see!

There are bruises in more places on my body right now than I remember ever having.  Last week while trying to dry out the basement, I ran up the stairs to close the outside hatch as it started to thunderstorm.  I didn't see the missing step.  Not looking where I was going and focusing on keeping more water out of the basement, muscle memory kicked in.  I placed my foot where the step should have been and planted it on thin air.

The dangers we don't see can hurt, and so much of my parenting has been about teaching my children to look out for and beware of hidden dangers.  Look both ways before crossing the street.  Be careful about the friends you choose, the choices you make.  Beware of what is on the internet.  Know that your adversary is a prowling lion, seeking to destroy you.  Keep your eyes open.

This past year, however, has been about taking my eyes off the work of the enemy and looking for the work of the One who has defeated him, the One who is making all things new.

The above words from the movie Signs were spoken by a dying woman to her husband, an Episcopal priest.  He renounces his faith when he can't make sense of her seemingly random, tragic death.  He considers her dying words incoherent ramblings caused by misfiring neurons in her brain after she sustained massive trauma.  As his family experiences a hostile alien invasion (I know--completely implausible--but trust me, in this movie it works) he realizes he needs his wife's encouragement to see the abundant and inexplicable ways Providence has prepared and preserved them from danger.

In the aftermath of 9/11, the sweet and wise Mr. Rogers encouraged frightened children to look for and see the helpers--the policemen, the firefighters, the emergency medical responders.  Don't focus on what is frightening, he said.  See the helpers.

As I've linked with the gratitude community during this past year, my eyes are being trained to see anew.  In the practice of looking for what is good, noble, trustworthy, healing, beautiful, and redemptive, my eyes are slowly learning to look away from what is ugly, discouraging, and frightening.  Yes, I need to be aware of the dangers, but I need to be more attuned to God's work of protecting, preserving, sustaining, leading, loving, healing.  In her excellent book Dancing With My Father, Sally Clarkson talks about cultivating an awareness of blissful moments and looking for the shadow of God's ways and the evidence of His signature along every step of life.  Seeing.

The year my daughter left for college, I was filled with doubt, with anxiety, with worry.  Had I prepared her well enough?  Could she succeed as a homeschooled graduate?  Was her faith strong enough?  Did she see the dangers, the temptations, the snares?

As we celebrated her graduation this past spring, I remembered our very first vist to her college campus.  During the school's welcome weekend, our family took a trip to a nearby state park with stunning waterfalls.  This is what we saw:

Stunning single and double and triple rainbows.  And I remembered God's promise, Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it,  and remember the everlasting covenant.

See. I think this is the name of this year for me.

The problem is, I don't see very well.  But if I believe as I say I do in the doctrine of total depravity, then there's a reason for my poor eyesight.  If every part of me is throughly corrupted, then even my eyes are damaged.  Without God's work in me, opening my eyes and lifting my head, I can't see Him, nor evidence of His work.  I first need to asks Him to do these things for me.  I have not because I ask not.  I need His grace.

Lord, give me eyes to see your work in my life, in the lives of those I love, in the world.  Make me mindful of the dangers yes, but show me your healing, protective power.  Show me what You would have me do with my life, how I should use my time, to whom you want me to be a blessing.  Help me see.  Then,

I will lift up my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven.  As the eyes of slaves look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maid look to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the Lord our God, till he shows us his mercy.  Psalm 123:1,2

Saving Libraries, One Story At A Time

(This is a repost of an earlier piece I'd written about honoring the stories of the elderly.  Linking up with Ann Voskamp today, considering the spiritual practice of: Caring for the least of these)

The death of an old person is like the burning of a library. Alex Haley

During my childhood, most Sunday afternoons were spent at my grandparents' farm with aunts, uncles, and cousins. At lunchtime several of the cousins sat on an old farm bench, trapped against the windows by the adults who sat around the table for an insufferable length of time talking about the most boring things in the universe. All we wanted was to escape the confines of the kitchen and the boredom and get outside to play in the woods and in the barns. Sometimes we would crawl under the table through the tangle of grown-up legs and feet to make our escape.

One of those sitting around the table was my Uncle Chuck, a bus mechanic. It never occurred to me to listen to anything he had to say, boring grown-up that he was. Sometime after his death, I learned that he'd served as crew chief of a C-47 aircraft during World War II. He'd received a medal for meritorious achievement for dropping paratroopers ahead of the Normandy invasion which, as history would have it, turned out to be sort of a big deal.

I wish I had known that.

I came across the above quote in this book about caring for elderly loved ones. One of the author's suggestions is to take the time to listen to their stories. These are people whose life stories have intersected with world history in fascinating times and places--the Great Depression, D-Day, the Korean Conflict, the battle for Civil Rights. We can read about any and all of these things in history books, but hearing the stories from those who lived through them breathes life into them and makes them seem much more real.

Recently, I had the opportunity to spend about a year interviewing an elderly friend who was declining from dementia. I knew she had lived a life and wanted to get as much of it down on paper as I could, capturing as many memories for her family as possible. Her first husband had been a test pilot with Chuck Yeager and had been killed in the crash of a test flight. My friend had had a front row seat to the events surrounding the breaking of the sound barrier and the inauguration of the space program. She was certain that, had her husband lived, he'd have been one of the country's first astronauts.

One of my favorite stories of hers was of becoming a stewardess (pre-flight attendant days) during World War II. There was a shortage of women available for the airlines to hire because many had been assigned to jobs overseas in hospitals or other war-related support positions. She had taken a train into Washington, DC, for the interview not having told her parents what she was up to. After her training, she was asked where she wanted to be assigned, and she chose Hollywood, California. She often served on flights carrying Hollywood movie stars of the day and lived with some friends in a house near the parents of some famous celebrity. At the time I interviewed her, she couldn't remember who the star was.

Last Christmas, I bound and wrapped my friend's memoirs for her to give to her family as gifts. She helped me tie the bows and attach the labels for each of them. My friend died this past summer, and I am thankful that some of her stories endure on paper. One of her granddaughters recognized the story about the movie star's parents and filled in the missing detail--the mystery celebrity was Bing Crosby. Learning that detail was a gift to me this Christmas. Everytime I heard one of Bing's classic Christmas songs, I thought of my friend and smiled.

If you're reading this and have hung with me this far, let me encourage you to pay attention to the elderly around you and look for opportunities to listen to their stories. It will bless them, and it will bless you. And you'll get to be part of preserving the history of a life that matters.

Flannery Was Right--A Good Man is Hard to Find

This month, Ann Voskamp has invited readers to share on the topic of spiritual practices of holy matrimony:



There is a group of beautiful, godly young women in my church who takes seriously the words from Titus 2 and seeks out wisdom from older women in the congregation. Perhaps they’ve mistaken for wisdom my full head of gray hair and the fact that I’ve been married for twenty-five years to the beloved Swede, and they invited me to meet with them. They wanted to know about male/female relationships and about marriage. Their questions were honest and simple and sweet; they were holy. But I think the unstated question most wanted to ask was this, “How do I find a godly man to marry?”

Were I to have answered that question honestly, I’d have had to have said, “I haven’t got the foggiest idea.”

I certainly couldn’t point them to my own experience because, according to most popular Christian authors writing authoritatively on the subject, I had clearly gone about it all wrong. As a young girl, I knew my King James told me not to be unequally yoked, but I took one look at the young men in my church’s youth group and knew there was nothing for me there. Not that any were interested, mind you. So I dated a few guys in high school about whom, if I stood back far enough and squinted my eyes, I could tell myself that although some may not have actually been Christians, I could see how someday they might be and thus convince myself that I wasn’t truly backslidden.

Then there were the blind dates. I’ve lost count of the times well-intentioned friends tried to fix me up with acquaintances using this description, “You’ll like him. He’s tall.” Having reached the Amazonian height of five-eleven by the sixth grade, it became important to me to find a young man I could look up to. Literally. Even if he had disgusting personal habits or was an axe murder. Just so long as he was tall.

There is a prominent voice in the homeschooling community who articulates a very convincing argument that courtship is God’s only way of finding a spouse. Normally, whenever I hear a speaker or author advocating anything he or she has written as being God’s way of doing anything, I clap my hands over my ears and run screaming from the room. This writer, however, put forward a cleverly devised argument using heady-sounding words and impeccable grammar and syntax, and I was seduced into thinking he was smarter than I was. So the first time a young man expressed interest in spending time with our baby girl, the Swede and I resolved to follow this author’s advice as neatly detailed on two pages of his book, including ample white space and margins.

Problem was, the young man and his parents hadn’t read the book. They thought we were nuts. And, real life and especially male/female relationships tend to be messy and not easily defined by words on two pages of a book, especially with white space and margins. Trust me, the experience wasn’t pretty.

My in-laws will celebrate fifty years of marriage this December, having told their parents they wanted to marry during Dad’s graduate school vacation, two days before Christmas. My grandparents eloped across the Pennsylvania state line. Other godly, intelligent, hard-working, faithful couples I know married while still students and without a job in sight.

So how did I find the beloved Swede? I like to say that he blindsided me. While I was busy scanning the horizon for tall men who weren’t axe murders, he emerged from a group of mutual friends and asked me out. It’s probably closer to the truth to say that God threw him at me, as if to say, “Here. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing. Here is a good, good man--better than you deserve.  My gift to you.”

And I think that really is my answer to those young ladies who were gracious enough to listen to my ramblings about life and relationships and marriage. You don’t find a good man. Sometimes God throws one at you.  Sometimes you trip over him.  Sometimes like Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe, he's been there all along.  However you find the love of your life, remember--he’s a gift. And I treasure mine.*

The secret to a lasting marriage? As Ann would say, “All’s grace.”   From beginning to end.

*And he really, really likes my gray hair.

Notes From a Bridal Shower

This is an excerpt from a bridal shower devotional I gave last weekend.  The bride-to-be is one of the most imaginative, creative, whimsical young ladies I know.  As a kindergarten teacher, she probably seems more like a fairy godmother to her students than their teacher.  This is some of what I shared with her:

Your creativity, imagination, and sense of wonder and play are amazing gifts, and I am in awe of them. These are gifts you will bring to your marriage and to your relationship with (your husband).  Now that I have all this gray hair and alleged wisdom, however, I’m slowly starting to learn that sometimes our gifts can also be our biggest stumbling blocks. Your gifts and your talents are very beautiful and very important. They were given to you by God, and He expects you to use them to serve others and for His glory. The challenge, however, for someone like you with your creative, artistic temperament and way of looking at the world can be summed up (in a quote from a popular Mary Engelbreit) illustration:

Life is just so daily.

Daily life all too often seems to have little use for the creative, the imaginative, and the whimsical. Maintaining a home, a job, a car, a marriage calls for daily offerings of duty and responsibility, not all of which allow for free-spiritedness and artistic interpretation. Some of it is just downright boring, repetitive, and feels like drudgery. Employers, landlords, banks, and tax collectors tend to frown on creative interpretations of their demands. Things break down and need to be maintained or replaced. While you will be managing these things side-by-side with the man you love, you won’t always be able to draw on your strengths in building a life and a home together.

And that’s actually a good thing.

Because although (your fiance) was drawn to you, in part, because of all your beautiful, whimsical, creative strengths that we all know and love, if you could manage marriage and life simply by playing to your strengths, you really wouldn’t need Jesus. It’s in our areas of weakness, when we are out of our element—when washing machines break down and schedules conflict and the taxes are due and life is getting stressful and hard--that we realize how desperately we need to cry out to and cling to Him

In II Corinthians 12, the apostle Paul wrote:

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. Vs. 9, 10

Or, to put it another way, in the words of an old Sunday school song that, I’m sure is near and dear to anyone, like you, who loves working with young children:

Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong.

We are so excited about your upcoming marriage, that the Lord has given you a godly man who loves you and gets you and appreciates all of your marvelous strengths. But know that in the context of your marriage, your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities, your sin will be exposed. This is true for (your husband) as well as for you. Within the context of your marriage, you will be given the blessing of having the opportunity to live out the gospel in this life that is just so daily--to acknowledge each others’ weaknesses, to ask for and extend grace, to cast yourselves before Christ and learn ever more deeply just how much He loves you. Don’t be surprised by your weaknesses, nor by (your husband's). May God give you eyes to see them as opportunities to draw nearer to Him. And may the power of Christ rest upon you both.  I love you.