There was a moment last year that I wasn't sure if I had any right to write about love. I felt like I didn't understand it, or rather, I had misunderstood it, and I was holding a map with the ins and outs and ups and downs and twists and turns done in invisible ink. Unreadable, unknowable, unfathomable.
But the thing is, I do know love. It's not just about the good times, the hand holding, the love notes, the moments when eyes meet and communicate without words. It's during the hard times, when things aren't right or good or likable, when love steps up and keeps loving, that's real. It's drawing a firm line in the sand, taking away the candy for dinner and giving broccoli instead, putting on sensible shoes and walking a few miles on a rocky trail.
I've learned what love is; I've learned that I have an incredible capacity to love and to forgive and to keep working towards the good times. And I've learned that it is worth it, this journey of love that started the moment I was born, learned at my Mother's knee, and given so freely to my husband, children, and family.