I’m all about the love stories.
As a youth I would pester my “elders” for recitations of their first encounter, of how they fell in love. I would ask for pictures, for endless details, I wanted to know these things. I didn’t need these stories to draw selected bits from, to collage my own fantasy; I think I liked hearing about something that was true—something as old as time—and something, like old time, that has endured, that just is.
In Peace Like a River, Swede counters that every western is a love story. Well played, Swede. I will take your westerns and up you this: that every story—all of life—is a love story.
Love is the most basic and most dazzling of all the emotions. It’s “the first and great commandment,” to “love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.” And the second is like unto it: “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” Love is the principal force behind human life. In medieval theology, it was held that love literally set the universe in motion.
Love, love, love. Love is all I need. It’s gentle, it’s kind; it is pain-filled and regretful, often the passion behind the hate. For would we hate if we could not love? And would we know true joy without it?
I regard my week, my month, my day, my life, and here is what I see:
There was a moment after school, when my big kids ran through the door all squawks and mayhem. My youngest approached them with a soccer ball, suggesting catch. They obliged, she giggled. She laughs because she loves them. (And they play because they love her.)
There was a moment in the mortuary, a side room ornamented with molding, and paintings, the world outside the window frosty and freezing, when my friends looked at one another across their daughter’s little body dressed in white, and oh so still. They looked at each other. They clasped hands. They cry because they love her.
There was moment almost seven years ago to the day that I had my first baby. She took forever to get here, emerging swollen and bruised and too big for the newborn onesie. And it hurt, that getting her here part. We—us moms—we suffer pain because we love our babies.
There was a moment in a garden, by a rock, on a cross, when He suffered and died because He loved me. (And you and you”¦)
Love is all around me. (And you and you”¦) Care to join me? Where do you see love stories? Do you have a love moment? Or what cheesy clichés did I forget?
I unconditionally love you. For one.
I remember my dad kissing my mom very sweetly all the time. And patting her on the be-hind, and saying, “Hey Susie, you haven’t kissed me today.” {even though they JUST did.}
All the poems and notes my dad would write for her. And then that love would spill over to my sister and I. He would write some to us. I always loved my dad showing us kids the jewlery and gifts he got for my mom. He would show us first and then make it a big moment for her when she opened them.
Of course now that I have a prince charming of my very own my heart has grown even bigger. I love that Brandon sings to me. All the time. He can’t sing at all. But I love that he does it anyway. I love that he leaves me notes everywhere. On the mirror. On the microwave. On a torn envelope on the counter. I love that he’ll bring me flowers just because. I think it is so fun to play board games with him. I still love to watch him light up the basketball court.
Of course I am completely in love with each of my children on so many different levels. I well up thinking of them and how much my Heavenly Father must love me for giving me them. I can’t imagine how He must love me.
That is the love I feel in my heart right now. Of course, its still the morning. So much love to give and feel the rest of the day. Happy Valentines my friend! {I love the ooey gooey love. The cheesy love.}
I LOVE IT Brooke.
I’m most reminded of love on those days where I’ve forgotten all about it. I come home exhausted and tired and pretty much done with everything including housework.
Then my hub gets home and does the dishes or something.
And it hits me real quick what love is about.
I get so frustrated sometimes at the commercialization of Christmas, Easter, Valentines Day, etc. You just melted all of that away, and brought the real reason back to why we have such holidays. To reflect on the simple, yet profound things in life. Thank you Brooke. I love YOU.
Last Saturday morning, the day after our wedding anniversary, my sweetheart put his suitcase in the trunk and drove off. He was heading out to join those he works with for a week away in far off state.
It was so difficult to say goodbye. Not that it is so long since he last went away. Not because we had, had a pre- travel fight. Not because I dreaded being along now that all the children are gone. It was because the day before had been so sweet. He has been there through everything. He has stood by me and supported me in all my weaknesses and through all my follies. He knows completely me and loves me anyway.
AT TWILIGHT
I study, from the backseat, his
golden blond hair and metal
rimmed glasses. Gentle hands steady the steering
wheel. I love them as I cherish each furrow
on his brow, each smile line of his face. I
wonder was it his leg next to the gear shift
in the VW bug that made my heart race, or
was it simply the beauty of his being that pleased
me then as it does now.
LOVE it! Love everyone’s comments, too. That’s why I love Valentine’s. I know it can be cliched, but what better thing to celebrate? Love is all you need and it comes in all forms.
I think you are right on when you say that all of life is a love story.
Little things in a day that show love to me: my husband working so hard and going to school to provide for and make a better life for us, his little family. My boys that make up that little family telling me that I am a good mom and that he loves me and the other calming only when it is I that hold him. A friend who knows just when to call and just what to say and a Savior that prompts them. How sweet it is to know this kind of love.