to love, not to be loved, is the key

I went to bed early last night. Partly because I was bone-tired, but also because my son has been sick, and I thought it likely he'd be waking me up in the middle of the night for some consolation. I was not mistaken.

There is something about being woken up by a crying child that is absolutely arful. Just chalkboard-screechingly arful. 

But also... there is something about crawling into your son's bed, snuggling in, and caressing and cooing him back to sleep that is just about one of the most beautiful experiences you can have. To sacrifice a little of yourself and your comfort in order to comfort another vulnerable, hurting person in their moment of need is simply... gorgeous.

So as tired as I am right now, and as much as I hate whiny kids and wish they'd just shut up and let me do my own thing... I am taking a moment to affirm - in the midst of the narcissistic hedonism of my culture and myself - that real love is worth the sacrifice in which it is almost always found.