She had seen a friend do it in high school and even in her youth it had seemed a bit ridiculous. Over the years she had seen it repeated in movies and real life, once in a dressing room and once inside of a new convertible for sale in a beach town. This business of writing something resolute on a mirror with lipstick in a moment of passion. From the first time she watched her weeping friend scrawl out a crimson phrase on the glass until now, it has seemed like nothing more than a fleeting, dramatic act that was doomed to temporary usefulness and a waste of good lipstick. Perhaps it was even less than that. Soon, maybe tomorrow, the mirror would be cleaned and the bold stand would be abandoned. In a week the whole thing might be forgotten altogether. It is just posturing, a fleeting, silly moment of big emotions and little results.
Now she felt the urge to do the silly thing, or something very similar, even if it was a waste of time and lipstick and windex and then more time.
She printed ten copies of the document and then walked the apartment, placing copies throughout. It's not like anyone came over anyway. She slowly read the last one.
You study your flaws and disappointments, and immerse yourself in them, and then you measure the love of God.
Study the love of God and immerse yourself in it, and then measure your flaws and disappointments.