Valentines Day draws close.
A gift for my husband is hidden until tomorrow.
I will cook with extra attention.
Perhaps we will share a bottle of white zinfandel with dinner.
We will celebrate the one that God created out of two.
We will speak words of love.
What is this love?
For many schooled in literature or poetry
the words of Elizabeth Barrett Browning come to mind:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I can't get past this opening line.
How? How do I love?
How do I love my husband
my family, my friends
how even do I love myself?
How do I participate in this most impossible and supernatural of acts?
How does a heart, once hard, terrified
shattered by pebbles, stones, boulders thrown
trust enough to risk?
How does such a heart
continue to crack, allowing light to spill in
and compassion to bleed out?
How does what was broken
still bend into the shape of love?
The questions swirl and rush
but a quiet voice trembles clear
louder than the noise.
Only because I Did.
Only because I Will.
Only because I Am.
And in the freshening calm, I remember.
We, though, are going to love—love and be loved.
First we were loved, now we love.
He loved us first.
jamming with Bonnie
and at The Grove with Velvet Ashes