Perhaps my favorite GK Chesterton passage, from Chapter 5 of ORTHODOXY, one of my all-time favorite books.

it has been said that the primary
feeling that this world is strange and yet attractive
is best expressed in fairy tales. The reader may, if
he likes, put down the next stage to that bellicose
and even jingo literature which commonly comes next in
the history of a boy. We all owe much sound morality
to the penny dreadfuls. Whatever the reason, it seemed
and still seems to me that our attitude towards life
can be better expressed in terms of a kind of military
loyalty than in terms of criticism and approval. My
acceptance of the universe is not optimism, it is more
like patriotism. It is a matter of primary loyalty.
The world is not a lodging-house at Brighton, which we
are to leave because it is miserable. It is the
fortress of our family, with the flag flying on the
turret, and the more miserable it is the less we
should leave it. The point is not that this world is
too sad to love or too glad not to love; the point is
that when you do love a thing, its gladness is a
reason for loving it, and its sadness a reason for
loving it more. All optimistic thoughts about England
and all pessimistic thoughts about her are alike
reasons for the English patriot. Similarly, optimism
and pessimism are alike arguments for the cosmic
patriot.

Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate
thing -- say Pimlico. If we think what is really best
for Pimlico we shall find the thread of thought leads
to the throne or the mystic and the arbitrary. It is
not enough for a man to disapprove of Pimlico: in that
case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea.
Nor, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of
Pimlico: for then it will remain Pimlico, which would
be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for
somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a
transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If
there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico
would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles;
Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she
is loved. For decoration is not given to hide horrible
things: but to decorate things already adorable. A
mother does not give her child a blue bow because he
is so ugly without it. A lover does not give a girl a
necklace to hide her neck. If men loved Pimlico as
mothers love children, arbitrarily, because it is
theirs, Pimlico in a year or two might be fairer than
Florence. Some readers will say that this is a mere
fantasy. I answer that this is the actual history of
mankind. This, as a fact, is how cities did grow
great. Go back to the darkest roots of civilization
and you will find them knotted round some sacred stone
or encircling some sacred well. People first paid
honour to a spot and afterwards gained glory for it.
Men did not love Rome because she was great. She was
great because they had loved her.

Pimlico is a suburb of London. Gentrified today, it was a pretty rough place in GK's day. Substitute "Pimlico" for anywhere - your job, your school, your church, your city, the suburb where you grew up. This is one of the most rousing, convicting calls I've ever read.

"The point is not that this world is too sad to love or too glad not to love; the point is that when you do love a thing, its gladness is a reason for loving it."

Amen, brotha. If only we could really love Pimlico.