If I sing Old McDonald a million times and entertain Alice with a million rhymes, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I can fathom all mysteries of the baby mind and understand everything there is to know about Alice’s development, how to discipline and how to raise her up, and if I have a faith that can move mountains of diapers, that trusts that any hardships are just a phase, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all my time and energy to my baby and give over my body to carrying her, changing her, nursing her, bouncing her, and making 100% organic baby food that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy other mamas or their babies, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not talk ill of babies or the task of motherhood, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of hair-pullings, cup-throwings, late night wakings, fussy mornings, or Mama-scratchings. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
. . . And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.