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A young lady had written a collection of poems. She had worked a long time on them and was very proud of her work. For a while, she would read them to small groups and poetry meetings. Feeling that it was time to share them with a wider audience she decided to have them published. She traveled to the offices of a major magazine and asked to speak to the editor.
'How may I help you?" Asked Horace, the old editor.
"I have some poems I would like to have published; I am told they are very good."
"Well, let's see. What are they about?"
"Oh, they are about love."
"Humph," Snorted Horace. "What is love?"
The young lady looked up with a dreamy faraway look and said, "Love is gazing at the golden sunset over flowering fields on the first day of spring as a lark sings...."
"No.! No! Stop it right there, Miss." cried the editor. "You've got it all wrong. Let me tell you what love is. It is getting up cheerfully in the middle of the cold winter night to go out and get medicine for a sick child."
God loved mankind not by having warm feelings of good will but by sending "His only begotten son.*" into the world to die for mankind's sin so man may come to him and receive eternal life.