Last night, I made a list of 30 acts I'd seen or experienced, trying to grasp what kinds of love cross one's path. Filling an empty pantry full of groceries for someone out of work. Friends making sure a lonely neighbor kid isn't left out. A person bringing a glass of water to his partner mowing the grass on a very hot day. A cat that curls up near a frightened child. A woman making a birthday cake for someone in an institution without friends or family. A woman caring for a chronically ill sister. Putting one's full intention into a back rub for another, or into the creation of a song. A busy cashier listening to a customer's conversation. A man taking a confused barefoot stranger at the door into his home, and washing his cut up feet.

One thing the acts have in common is sacrifice, small or large. A desire to offer up a moment or a year, one's sense of security, one's belongings. Some impulse or calculated risk for another. When the act feeds the giver as well as the receiver, I think the moment shifts into something larger, something surprising that connects those involved, some experience of light that transcends the feeling of sacrifice. That's love.