We have an unexpected love, you and I.
Weathered by time. Mended in grace. Surprising me even still.
It is not counted in cards or flowers or chocolate.
(Okay, maybe a little bit of chocolate.)
It is counted in dirty diapers and leaky roofs and a whole hoot of could-you-stop-at-the-grocery-store-for-milk kind of texts.
Our love is fully us just as it is fully Him.
Our hard. Our happy. Our everything in-between.
It was this love that found me last week in a way even Hallmark cannot describe.
My day had been long, filled with life and a kid with pink eye and another kid who announced that she *might* have had some really strange poop.
Bless and eew.
It seemed only logical, if not also sanitary that I would ask you to take a little bag of love to the hospital for our sweet Mimi.
And of course, you said yes.
It was just about the time I finally snuggled down into bed that I heard the garage door open and I knew you were home and would be climbing the stairs and walking through our bedroom door.
A door that would gently close behind you as you said, I’m sorry that I’m so late but I tucked her into bed, brushed her hair, put on chapstick. Then we got her into her fuzzy socks and I rearranged her pillows and blankets so she was comfortable. And of course, I made sure her ice water was fresh…
To this I eked out a small and unimpressive, Thank you so much, honey.
But what you don’t know is that not long after you left to go back downstairs for something, I sat in the quiet of your absence trying to fight back tears.
You had loved her well because you love me well.
In all the little mundane ways He has asked you to love me.
Putting on socks and shoes when I can’t do it on my own. Brushing my hair and applying chapstick in every hospital room I’ve ever been in. Rearranging my pillows and blankets every night. Bringing ice water or chocolate or anything else that I want so that I can save steps. Gently sliding my glasses off when I have fallen asleep during a movie for the millionth time.
This. This is you and I. This is our love.
A steady and sweet something that has shown up for so long it doesn’t seem so very extraordinary.
Until it is.
Standing in front of me. Weathered by time. Mended by grace. Surprising me still.
Reminding me that there is something better than flowers and cards and chocolate.
(Yes, even chocolate.)
Because every day, you love me.