What it is.

Two weekends ago I attended a wedding shower for a friend.

Last weekend I attended another wedding shower for a different friend.

Sunday we were sitting in a field with an incredibly lovely mountain top view watching two sweet friends holding hands and exchanging promises.

Love.

It’s just all over the place this month.

Love.

I like weddings. I like romance.

I like the idealism associated with newlyweds and young love.

It’s the beginning and it’s sticky sweet and it’s hopeful and it’s full of glowing words and bold proclamations.

It’s nice.

But when I saw this instagram picture on my phone last week, I was reminded of the kind of love I like best of all.

It’s a pomegranate. And Bryan is prepping it for his wife as a tasty little surprise.

Having purchased and cut open two pomegranates just last week, I know what a messy, time consuming task that is.

And so I recognize exactly what’s happening there.

It’s love.

And it’s the kind of love I like best.

The kind of love that’s less about flash and more about action.

That’s less about hey-world-look-at-this and more about hey-you-that-I-love-I’ve-been-listening-to-you-for-years-and-I-still-care.

This is the song I want to sing.

This is what I want to teach my sons and my daughters.

Love.

Love with a capital “L”.

It’s not just the fancy words.

Love.

It’s the proof.

It’s the small sacrifices.

It was my mom rising early to be certain that my father had fresh coffee before he milked the cows at the inconvenient 5 o’clock hour.

Love is not saying certain things.

Love is cleaning the kitchen without being asked.

It’s watching Parenthood with your spouse even if it’s not your favorite show and there are no zombies walking the streets on any episode.

Love is walking in the door from a long day at work and helping prep a salad before taking a break for yourself.

Love is a heavy burden made light.

Yes.  It’s the wedding and the vows and the flowers and the notes and the phone calls and the dances.

And it’s the waiting and the long suffering and the patience and the serving and the denying yourself.

Love.

I liked being a newlywed.

I liked the infatuation with ourselves and our new lives and the wonder of all those firsts.  First trip to the grocery store together.  First house.  First car picked out together.  First Christmas.

But I think I like the time-weathered eyes with which we see one another now even better.

The understanding.  The camaraderie.  The history.

The holding hands and rising above the current circumstances strength that can only come from spending a handful of years twisting and turning down the same winding road together.

Yeah.  Love.

I’ve still got a lot to learn.

Here’s to new knowledge and paths yet discovered.