Love

My son was asked to write about “Love” for a grade 4 assignment. 

 

In essence, it was a nine year old summarization of 1 Corinthians 13. Included in his understanding of love were hand printed words like patience, understanding, and trust.

 

Maturing into the teenage years, my definition of love was filled with angst and dramatic romance because I just didn't know how to love.   

As I entered into womanhood, I kept searching for a love filled with passion and excitement.  Relationships that started out with novel enthusiasm and passionate discovery soon fell short.  My love was merely fanciful and fleeting.

After many years of being married, I see the definition of love more clearly.  In spite of the fact that there is nothing passionate or exciting about sharing the same bed or parenting the same children or sharing the same bathroom sink for 14 years, I finally understand the love that was summarized by my nine year old son.

 

I never realized the depth or capacity of love until I had children of my own, with the man I married. It began with learning to love our children, but as a result our love for each other deepened. It was as if the love sapling had taken root deeper and thicker into the rich soil of our family. Our patience was tested, our trust was tried, and understanding expanded to outside of ourselves.

 

Suddenly the clear diamond that my husband bought for me as an engagement present doesn't sparkle so brightly as the smile that spreads across my daughter's face when she sees her daddy walk through the door.   His arms not only embrace me, but lift our babies out of their cribs.  His hands not only hold mine, but help the children build their school projects or bandage their wounds.  He not only drives an hour during his lunch break to come meet me for a rendezvous, but to see his son's preschool graduation ceremony. No longer do I see the young man that I married, but I see the father he has become. His love is understanding and trusting and patient.