Love Is Patient, Love Is Kind: Lessons From a Long Life
“Love is patient, love is kind.” Many people hear these words only at weddings, as if they belong solely to young couples at the beginning of their story. I hear them now, approaching my 92nd birthday, as a summary of a life lived through marriage, migration, caregiving, illness, and the quiet routines of an active-senior community.
For me, patience and kindness are no longer abstract virtues; they are muscle and memory. They were there when my late wife, Macrine, decided to pursue nursing at forty, after raising our four children, starting at the hospital bedside and later serving as a visiting home-health nurse and head of Quality Assurance in Maryland. They were there when we left the Philippines and built a new life in the United States, joining the countless Filipinos whose journeys form part of the global diaspora of caregivers and professionals.
Love Does Not Envy, It Does Not Boast
“Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” In a world that measures success by titles, followers, and bank accounts, these lines feel almost countercultural. My own path, from the Philippines to a professional life that included work at the FDA, and now to my days of bridge, mahjong, and blogging has taught me that real achievement is quieter than most people think.
I saw this most clearly in Macrine’s nursing career. She did not envy younger nurses or boast about late promotions. She began her profession at an age when many are slowing down, but she simply focused on doing the work caring for patients in their homes, checking charts, and later safeguarding standards as a quality assurance leader. There were no billboards or headlines, only grateful patients, colleagues, and a family who saw, day after day, what love without envy or pride looks like in practical form.
As I age, I find that the things I once might have boasted about matter less. At ninety-one plus, no one is impressed by how fast you walk or how many projects you juggle. They are more interested in whether you listen, whether you show up, and whether you can still offer a smile even on days when your kidneys ache and your legs remind you of every mile you have traveled.
Love Is Not Easily Angered
“Love is not easily angered.” That line has grown on me with time. When you live alone but not lonely, you have a lot of time to think about losses, about misunderstandings, about all the little ways life could have turned out differently. It would be easy to become bitter about aging, illness, or the inevitable frustrations of the healthcare system that I know both as a patient and as someone who spent a career inside it.
Yet I have learned that love, in this stage of life, often takes the shape of gentleness. Gentleness with the nurses who are overworked, the doctors running behind schedule, the staff at my community who have their own family worries at home. Gentleness with friends who repeat the same story for the third time at the card table. And perhaps most of all, gentleness with myself, when I cannot move as quickly or do as much as I used to.
I think of the Filipino nurses I have written about, spread across the world, working long shifts in hospitals and home health agencies, including the one my wife once helped lead. Their patience in the face of difficult patients, complicated families, and exhausting schedules is a living commentary on this verse. They remind me that not being “easily angered” is less about personality and more about purpose: when you know you are there to heal, you choose calm over outrage, understanding over accusation.
Love Keeps No Record
“Love keeps no record.” That may be the hardest line of all. As a daily blogger, I literally keep records: of my thoughts, activities, memories, and reflections, shared with readers around the world. But the record-keeping that this verse warns against is different, it speaks of grudges, of scorecards in relationships, of bitterness carefully preserved like old letters in a drawer.
Over a long marriage of 63 years, believe me, there were plenty of opportunities to keep score. Who sacrificed more? Who was right in old arguments? Who carried the heavier load when raising children or managing the household while the other pursued career goals? In our case, any honest tally would show that Macrine gave more than her share, working as a nurse, a mother, and a quiet anchor of the home. Macrine was the Disciplinarian and I acted as the good guy.
But love, I have learned, is not an accounting system. As I look back now, widowed for six years, what remains is not a ledger of rights and wrongs but a collage of ordinary days: shared meals, late-night conversations, her stories from home health visits, the pride in her eyes when our children succeeded, the quiet comfort of knowing that, whatever happened, we faced it together. The disagreements have faded; the affection remains. That is what it means, I think, to keep no record.
Living the Verse in an Active-Senior Community
Today, I practice these words in smaller, slower ways. I walk slowly around the THD compound of my active-senior community, greet neighbors, and sit down at the bridge or mahjong table to keep my mind sharp. I manage Stage 4 chronic kidney disease with the help of doctors, nurses, and my own determination to keep moving, even when my legs protest. I even abstain from alcohol and sweets.
Love, in this season, looks like patience with my body’s limits, kindness to the people who help me navigate them, and a deliberate choice not to dwell on what I have lost but on what I still have, time, memories, community, and the ability to write. Each blog post is a small act of hope, a message to readers across the globe that life after loss, aging, and illness can still be rich with meaning.
“Love is patient, love is kind” is no longer just a verse for weddings to me. It is a daily practice: in the way I remember my wife with gratitude, not regret; in the way I honor the global story of Filipino nurses through her example; and in the way I greet each new day with as much grace, humor, and gentleness as I can muster. At nearly 92, I am still learning that love is less about grand gestures and more about how we treat each other and ourselves-one ordinary day at a time.
- Active Endurance (Long-suffering): Patience means actively enduring injuries or difficult situations without being easily angered or seeking revenge.
- Active Kindness: Kindness involves proactively doing good, serving others, and showing compassion, rather than just being passive.
- Choice Over Emotion: Love is a daily decision to be humble and gentle, not just a fleeting emotion.
- No Record of Wrongs: A lasting, loving life requires letting go of grudges and not keeping track of faults.
- Selfless Attitude: Love is not selfish, boastful, or proud, but instead protects and trusts.
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