The Black Pitcher

When I was a young bride, and the groom and I were merging possessions into our new home, he opened a box and slowly withdrew a beautifully shaped black metal pitcher.  He said, "I know it's ugly, but it was my grandmother's.  We don't have to use it, but I don't want to get rid of it." 

"OK," I said, not sure what to make of it.  One day when he was out of the house, I dug out the pitcher and took on a challenge.  Thirty minutes, a lot of elbow grease, and a container of silver polish later, I had a beautiful antique silver water pitcher. 

Later when my husband walked in and saw the shiny pitcher, he looked at me quizzically, "What?"

I smiled and said, "It is silver: it was just tarnished."

This morning I was walking through the Metro Center station, saying my affirmation to myself, "We are all love." Then, I started thinking about some people I know who aren't exactly the personification of love.  The silver pitcher came to mind.  Those unpleasant people are love, tarnished till they can't be can't be recognized for their true nature, just like the pitcher.  We are all tarnished.  Our challenge: find our way back to silver.