Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Love is Not Pork Bellies

“The pork belly futures contract became an icon of futures and commodities trading.”


I don’t even understand that sentence, but I know it’s as American as apple pie futures. Here’s my take on it. Pigs have bellies. Pig bellies are finite, and that means it’s possible to run out of pork tummies. The price goes up. The price goes down, depending. People eat bacon. Right?

The problem is that the world gets to thinking that everything is bacon and might run out.

At our house it is not uncommon to hear comments like, “If your bacon has formed a pyramid on your plate, you have too much bacon. Put seven pieces of bacon back.”

Bacon, it’s finite. 

Love is not bacon.

As the grandparent of, soon to be, fourteen grandchildren, I feel confident making that statement. 

When we had our first baby I thought my feelings for him were like pork belly futures, limited and finite, and that I couldn’t possibly love anyone else the way I loved that rosy- cheeked little boy. But then we had a quiet, graceful little girl with huge blue eyes and the love got bigger—not smaller. 

Then came another daughter, with a feisty attitude and a smart mouth that made us laugh, followed by a son with an attitude so cheerful that it dazzled, and the love got bigger yet.

A friend of mine explained it like this. “Everyone in college is pretty sure that children will suck them dry. That’s what conventional wisdom teaches. That’s what society says. But I looked around and saw that ninety percent of everyone, in the end, wanted what I already had, even Madonna.”

“I can’t imagine life without her.” (Madonna the Singer, speaking of her first daughter)

I know. Right? And unlike pork bellies, love is one of those things that the more you get the more there is, and the more there is, the more you can have and the bigger it becomes. Love, it just never runs out. 


Linda (Love it Up) Zern 

3 comments:

Betty Horn said...

This makes me cry.

Suburban Earth Mama said...

Love expands. That's what makes God, God.

LINDA L. ZERN said...

And trying to judge God by the standards of pork bellies.

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