My spirit was broken.

It felt as if every passion, every desire, every love, vision and dream had been stripped from my soul and I was being asked to face all the truths of reality.

It was brutally quieting and humbling.

Yes, one month ago, I sat meek and mild, hunched over in the middle of our laundry room with huge piles of clean and dirty clothes all around me. I folded the mess and spoke my deepest, most intimate needs through tears as my husband passed on his way out to another 12-year-old baseball game.

“I just really need someone to root for me,” I said, among other significant truths.

This wasn’t a husband vs. wife fight. This wasn’t a me against the world fight. This wasn’t a pity party. This was a spiritual battle, a kingdom battle of eternity vs. reality. An asking all the big life questions kind of moment. An asking what’s the purpose of my life kind of moment, and who’s really, truly in this with me kind of moment.

After all…

“Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 6:12 

I needed to know someone was rooting for me.

I needed to know someone was by my side no matter what.

I needed to know that someone really understood what was going on in my life, in my heart, in my mind, in my soul.

I needed to know that someone completely and wholeheartedly understood and embraced my dreams and visions, even if they’re a little or a lot crazy.

I needed to know someone had my back.

I needed to know that someone was following my story, that someone cared for every detail, that someone was willing to sit down and hear me all out.

I needed someone to believe in me.

I needed someone who understood my most authentic intentions.

I needed a real, live breathing body willing to take time to really get to know me, say “you go girl,” and be all in with me and for me.

I needed more than surface things.

I needed someone who was willing to go far beneath the surface to things that really mattered.

I needed to feel known, tended, and supported for who I was, for who I am.

We’re free and brave in the USA. We love our independence, our autonomy. We’re busy, we’re bound and determined to make a whole lot of things happen to achieve the American Dream in our own little corner of this great land.

But I’m concerned.

I’m concerned we’re far too busy, far too independent, far too bound and determined.

Many of us are missing out on real, deep, authentic connection.

I’ve been told a few times that I’d never share things in “real life” that I share here on the blog.

It’s true.

Or maybe not…

In some cases, I share way more on the blog than people think I should, way more than others would, way more than makes people comfortable.

Do you know why that is?

Because our lives are SO crazy busy that there’s no real place for sitting with someone for hours and learning where they are, who they are, what their greatest dreams and insecurities are on any given day. How many people do you REALLY know? I’m just asking, because generally speaking, I think we’re far too busy to give one another the real time of day.

I’m so over “How are you?” “Good.” “How are you?” “Fine.” I don’t even want to ask or answer anymore.

If you want to know the real me, we honestly need at least a couple hours together in good hearty conversation, maybe three, four or more (without kids). Who has that kind of time these days?

So I share here for those who are willing to listen, for those who are willing to join in the conversation. Real, authentic conversation. Deep, meaningful, sometimes dark conversation. Faith, fun and adventures, dreams and visions, living and loving through the hard and easy stuff, too.

I don’t know about you, but right now, I don’t have a place for the connection and depth I need as a human being. Real, long-lasting community is hard to come by these days.

Our busy culture concerns me.

We’re missing out on connection and authenticity.

People need to be known.

People need to be understood.

People desire these things deep in their souls.

So often, we’re just passing by hurting, needy souls and don’t even know it.

I’m weary of living on the easy, breezy surface.

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” Gandhi

“So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you…”  Matthew 7:12

This morning I woke up with fresh perspective.

I must be the change I wish to see in the world.

I must do for others what I would love to have done for me.

I need to be way more intentional about learning people, knowing people, speaking life to them, understanding them right where they are.

I need to be way more intentional about hearing people, understanding them, believing in all of who they are.

I am going to ROOT for the special group of people God puts in my path every day.

Because somebody needs encouragement. Somebody needs to know they’ve been heard. Somebody needs to know they’re doing okay. Somebody needs to know they’re on the right track. Somebody needs to know they’re known.

This isn’t so much about helping people as it is about knowing people.

This isn’t a “rah rah sis boom bah” kind of rooting. This is a quiet rooting, a listening, hearing, embracing and wholly understanding another human being right where they are, right where God’s growing them and leading them.

I’m rooting for you, friends.

Be the change you wish to see.

Root others on.

Root on.

We must.

I was a gregarious gal.

I really was.

When we first met at my husband’s fraternity house in August 1994, I remember thinking he was the most handsome guy I’d ever met in my life. I’m not kidding. I remember it vividly.

My roommate and I were college freshmen. It was our first week at school. Classes hadn’t started yet and we had nothing to do. So we decided to walk fraternity row. Both small town girls, we browsed the place like it was a candy shop. House after house, delight after delight lined the long campus.

We were just taking a walk.

My husband likes to debate that fact. He claims we were trolling for guys.

I’ve always denied the trolling. But perhaps it was true just a little bit?

After all, our first meeting by the sand volleyball court outside Delta Tau Delta that day marked the beginning of a 2 1/2 year period of the most extreme extroversion I’ve experienced in my entire life.

I studied hard those years. Enough to land a 3.92 GPA in the end.

But I also lived wild and free.

Gregarious.

Extroverted.

Unhindered.

Fun.

Playful.

A par.ti.er.

I drank beer. Lots of it.

I stayed up late. Really late.

I hung with my boyfriend (now husband) and his brothers at the fraternity house ALL THE TIME. So much so that four gregarious girlfriends and I were unofficially coined “Delt Girls.” So much so that I was officially named the fraternity’s “Sweetheart” two years in.

I socialized like a maniac, danced like a mad woman, took plenty of jello shots, dressed in the most ridiculous party costumes, and did things my children don’t ever need to do.

Yes, I was unstoppable.

And that was just the fun, partying, social side of me. I’m pretty sure I was a go-getter all the way around those first 2 1/2 years of college.

I was on my way to a big, bold life. Nobody could stop me. Everything was grand. I was wild and free, smart and vivacious, witty and kind. I was the girl everyone could love. The girl people could laugh at and laugh with. Words flowed free in dorm rooms, cafeterias, classrooms, libraries, fraternity houses, dances, and hockey games. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t doubtful. I had a handful of really close friends, a lot of good friends and a TON of great acquaintances. Guys and gals liked me, and I’m 99% confident that most people (including myself) would have described me as “fun.”

I liked my new vibrant self. She was good. She was free. She was living more boldly than ever before. She was going places, that’s for sure. Yes, there was never a doubt, never a dull moment. She was going to graduate, go to grad school, get a great job as a speech therapist and live a marvelous life. She was going to be a professional, and a respected one at that. She was going to be a mom, and a good one at that. She was going to be a church-goer, too, and a faithful one at that. She was going to be wife, and an awesome one at that.

Yes, that was me the first 2 1/2 years of college. That was me the first 1 1/2 years I dated my husband. That was me most days leading up to our engagement.

But this story’s about to turn serious.

Nearly 21 years have passed since we first met at my husband’s fraternity house.

More than 20 years have passed since we started dating.

18 1/2 years have passed since we got engaged.

And today marks our 17th wedding anniversary. Congrats, babes. I love you so much. The story God is writing through our marriage is important, noteworthy, blessed and delightful. I am honored to call you husband and do life together, easier days and hard days alike. For better, for worse.

But 17 years into marriage, there’s one fear, one insecurity that’s plagued me this year more than any other.

I fear I’m not the extroverted woman my husband dated.

I fear I’m not the gregarious woman my husband became engaged to.

I fear that the woman my husband chose to propose to is NOT AT ALL the woman he’s married to 17 years later.

And as hard as it is to admit this…

I fear he’d marry “that girl” all over again, but wouldn’t necessarily marry “this girl” all over again.

Sigh…

Exhale.

The truth is, I was the MOST extroverted I’ve ever been in my entire life when we were dating. That extroversion was limited to a short window, a short burst of time. If I look over the course of my life, I know for a fact that my extreme extroversion during our dating years was an anomaly, really. And that fact scares me sometimes.

I am NOT the same woman my husband proposed to 18 1/2 years ago. I am not the same woman my husband married 17 years ago.

I’m back to my fully introverted self now.

I don’t drink beer. At all. In fact, I hate it.

I don’t party with the boys. Ever. (Although I still think men are way more chill than women.)

I don’t dance like a mad woman and I don’t do jello shots except the one time my sweet neighbor forced me to on a hot play day in her front yard. I don’t stay up really late unless I’m blogging, I’m not a social maniac at all, and I’d never use the word “fun” to describe myself anymore.

I’ve chosen to step out of the professional, American dream grind and am staying home when his preference would be for me to work full-time. I’m not nearly as confident in my mothering abilities as I would have guessed myself to be back when we were dating, and I’d much rather go to Haiti or Africa than Las Vegas or Los Angeles.

I’m a wolf. INFJ.

He’s a dolphin. ENFP.

We’re married. 17 years today.

But our personality types are night and day.

Did my husband, a dolphin, know he was marrying a wolf 17 years ago? Or did my extremely extroverted dating behavior lead him to believe he was marrying a dolphin?

Okay. I know this is getting a little out there for some of you. (Yes, real live people have assigned animals to each of the 16 Meyers-Briggs personality types so I’m not making this stuff up.) But hear me out.

17 years in, I’m starting to believe that real life CHANGE is quite possibly the greatest threat to marriage.

What happens when our spouse changes?

What happens when we change?

What happens when we barely resemble the people who stood on the altar and said “I do?”

What then?

Do we give up on marriage?

Do we trash it?

Ditch it?

Give up?

Give in?

Say forget about this, I’m out, this isn’t working anymore, let’s get a divorce?

How do we respond to change in marriage?

What happens when your spouse gains 20 pounds, 30 pounds, 40 pounds, 150 pounds?

What happens when your spouse loses 30 pounds, is suddenly obsessed with their weight and you aren’t so much at all?

What happens when kids rock your world?

What happens when you can’t get pregnant like you thought you could?

What happens when the adoption falls through? Or when she wants to do foster care and you don’t?

What happens when your spouse starts working long, late nights to get that promotion and you’re home alone with the kids day after day after day?

What happens when you have an empty nest?

What happens when one of you goes back to school?

What happens when you have significant financial setbacks?

What happens when your spouse makes a major career change?

What happens when one of you wants to lounge around in retirement and the other wants to volunteer, travel, work, and be with the grandkids all the time?

What happens when your spouse grows lots of nose hairs and chin hairs?

What happens when your spouse goes bald?

What happens when your spouse lies in bed all day depressed and withdrawn?

What happens when your kids go off the rails?

What happens when one of your children has a disability?

What happens when one of your children passes away?

What happens when your spouse’s faith is solid and yours has fizzled?

What happens when your spouse receives a cancer diagnosis?

What happens when your spouse is debilitated by dementia, Alzheimers, Parkinsons?

What happens when your spouse is confined to a wheelchair?

What happens when your spouse requires oxygen tanks to survive?

What happens when your spouse needs help going to the bathroom?

How will you respond? How will we respond?

Change in marriage is inevitable.

What makes or breaks our marriages is how we respond to change.

If you’re married long enough, there will come a time when you’ll realize you are NOT the same person you were when you got married. We are humans. We change. We evolve. We grow and develop over time. We become more of who we really are.

As I’ve been working through this fear, this fear that I’m not the same woman my husband married 17 years ago, this fear that he’d marry “that girl” but not “this girl,” I’ve decided that marriage requires an equal parts accepting, surrendering, fighting, trusting and believing.

Accept that you have changed.

Accept that your spouse has changed.

Surrender to your current reality.

Surrender to the ebb and flow.

Fight for your marriage. Fight to the ends of the earth. Until you can fight no more.

Trust it’s the right thing to do.

Believe you are worthy.

Believe your spouse is worthy.

Believe God brought you together for a reason.

Believe God has a plan for your marriage.

Believe you can make it.

Believe marriage is worth it.

Believe he’d marry you all over again.

Believe she’d marry you all over again.

Believe that “this girl” is just as lovely and beautiful, treasured and true as “that girl.”

Believe that “this guy” is just as handsome and witty, sporty and smart as “that guy.”

Believe you can do this.

Believe you are loved.

Believe that change is not only real, but okay.

Believe that long-lasting love is forged through change, challenges and the hardest stuff life has to offer.

Believe in 40th, 50th, and 60th wedding anniversaries.

Believe in wrinkly hand holding.

In the car ride on the way home from church, he played her “Good Stuff,” his favorite B52s song from days gone by. Days prior, she’d played him “Through All of It,” her favorite new song on Christian radio, the song she can’t stop listening to, the song that resonates with her soul most right now.

A dolphin song. A wolf song.

Somewhere along the way, they met in the middle with a frog and pig song. The Rainbow Connection resonated with both.

Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy. A frog and a pig.

Seth and Amy. A dolphin and a wolf.

Who knew.

They live. They laugh. They fight. They change. They come together, still. They come together, again. Time and time again. For love. Sweet love. 

 

The goodness began on January 6, two days before my husband got his eye cancer diagnosis from the ophthalmologist in Minneapolis, two days before we knew any of this was about to unfold.

I was scheduled to leave January 10 for a week-long trip to the Dominican Republic with Compassion International, so she left a lasagna and cookies at our doorstep for my husband and the kids to enjoy while I was away. She brought a card with warm and well wishes for my trip. I was blown away to say the least. Who does this? Who brings joy and surprises blessing in the form of a meal? Who knows how to love like this? Who honors another’s life and work without expecting anything in return? I knew now. I knew her name.

Little did I know, that was just the beginning.

Two days later, on January 8, my husband got the diagnosis. Choroidal melanoma. Eye cancer. To tell the truth, it’s all a bit blurry from there on out.

But here’s what I know for sure…

Before we shared the news publicly, the word spread like wildfire privately. Within 24-36 hours of Seth’s diagnosis, my mom told me that she and my aunts were planning and preparing a week’s worth of meals for my husband and three kids to enjoy while I was gone on the trip. So January 10, the day I left for the Dominican, my aunt and uncle delivered several meals to our home. Before the meals arrived, I’m pretty sure Seth was a little hesitant to receive them. “I’m not on my deathbed,” he said. “I can still cook.” “I don’t want them going to all of that work just for me.” But the truth is, my husband REALLY appreciated those meals. He and the kids ate them all week long while I was gone. He had enough stress to handle with the new eye cancer diagnosis to process, full-time work, and three kids to tend. The ready-made meals were a true relief.

My parents’ best friends transported me to and from the airport. When they picked me up at the end of my trip, Cyndy, my second mom, had a grocery bag full of food ready for us to bring home. They’d already done so much, and now a meal. I was blown away again, and we’d barely begun the journey. I’m sure Cyndy thought she’d provided enough for one meal, but it was enough for two. Truly, when you provide a meal, the love extends further than you know.

The generosity continued from there.

Warm muffins for our first trip to Mayo Clinic.

A big box of snacks and drinks for our week at the hospital.

Treats waiting when we got home.

Homemade chili, corn muffins and fresh strawberries from a woman we’d met two, maybe three, four times.

A crock pot of spaghetti and meatballs, enough for three meals, with oranges and homemade cookies.

Chicken enchiladas, beans, rice, and brownies from a neighbor.

Ready-to-bake fajitas with chips, queso and sweet popcorn snacks from a blog reader who also attends our church.

A frozen meal from our church meals ministry.

Stuffed pasta shells, salad, and homemade apple crisp from our sister-in-law and brother-in-law.

Frozen lasagna, garlic bread, and ice cream delivered to our doorstep courtesy of an aunt three hours afar.

A rotisserie chicken, fresh fruit plate, and Valentine’s cupcakes from our daughter’s friend’s mom, handed through the car window as we left cheer practice.

Two heart-shaped ready-to-bake pizzas, root beer and brownies from a family on our son’s basketball team.

Homemade cookies from a friend and mama of one of the boys on our son’s baseball team.

Hot tortilla soup, chips and sour cream left at our doorstep.

Lasagna, garlic bread and Seth’s favorite, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, from a friend who’s near and dear.

Pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots and french silk pie transported two hours in a car straight to our table.

Homemade wild rice soup, cheesy bread, salad, and Italian Soda delivered to our door from a sweet college friend we hadn’t seen in far too long.

Yes, we have been blessed.

We have realized the power of a meal in time of need.

The meals that have been delivered, the meals that have sustained us through the past six weeks have been nothing short of a miracle, really.

We are grateful.

And we will remember.

When you deliver a meal to someone in need, anyone in need, it is a quiet and powerful expression of love.

 

 

 

On February 7, we returned home from a week’s stay at the hospital. By February 15, I was feeling fatigued and overwhelmed by the full-time responsibility for the kids and everything at home.

But here’s the thing…

I wasn’t fully aware of my fatigue and need for a break until the possibility of a break was brought to my attention.

That afternoon of the 15th, I spoke with my mom on the phone. She told me that she’d be willing to come and watch the kids for a day if I ever needed a break during this journey through eye cancer. I said “Yeah. Okay. I’ll let you know.” When I got off the phone, I thought about it more and realized I should have just said yes on the spot. So I texted her and told her yes. Please come. A day away will be great.

We agreed on the 19th. But my dad has a rare lung disease, never does great in the winter, and has been very sick with the flu the past couple of weeks. My mom needed to stay home to be with my dad until his new meds got into his system. So we moved my day away to the 20th.

I’m just going to say this…because it’s true. When you’re a mom and have three kids (or for that matter ANY number of kids) it can be hard to take care of yourself.

I needed a break, time away from the kids and all the responsibility. In this case, my husband Seth was out of commission because of his eye cancer. It was not an option for him to give me the break I needed. Most of the people we know have kids of their own to care for, and they work all week. While I’d had a couple offers to watch our kids, the truth was, I needed a big block of time away. I needed a whole day away. And the weekend wasn’t an option because the kids had basketball and volleyball. It was just too much to ask of a neighbor or really anyone else.

My mom had been helping my sister get re-organized at her house, and my niece and nephew had been really sick, too. Add to that, my dad was not feeling well at all. To be completely honest, asking my mom to watch my kids so I could simply “get away” for the day felt very selfish. My dad and sister need help more. Then there’s this vague gnawing away, this ugly feeling that I’m adding to my mom’s burden to care for everyone who seems to need her. And she never has or takes time for HERSELF. I don’t want to be an added burden. I want to provide relief. Or at least, I just want to be benign.

But I needed relief. Yes, I needed relief.

So my mom came the night of the 19th and stayed at our house for nearly 24 hours.

I went to my first writing group.

I crossed paths with the mama of the very first girl with down syndrome I saw for speech-language therapy back in 2000. We hugged big and caught up for a few minutes.

I worked out, climbing the stairs one after another.

Up. Up. Up.

Up. Up. Up.

Up. Up. Up.

I sought out David, the man with down syndrome we greet and high five on our way out of the gym everyday. Earlier in the week, he’d pointed out a pin on his hat that said his birthday was Friday the 20th. So I brought him the picture Maisie and my mom colored in honor of his special day.

I went to Walgreens and printed pictures from the day I met our sponsored child, Meranyelis, in the Dominican Republic. Because of the eye cancer, I was LONG overdue on mailing the pictures, and I didn’t want to break my promise to Meranyelis to send them as soon as I could. When all those pictures popped up on the screen, I sensed the holiness of the day all over again.

I picked up seven pictures I’d ordered from the day I met Charles last year in Haiti. Our sponsorship became official mid-December and I’ve sent a letter, but for multiple reasons, I hadn’t had a chance to print and send pictures to him yet.

I wrote two cards, labeled the back of each picture with child name and number and sponsor name and number, and stuffed them in an envelope to Compassion International. Yes, I thought. This is worth the day away.

I ate lunch by myself. Quietly. With no interruption. With nobody sharing or digging in my food.

I played on Twitter. Read some blog posts. Connected with a few of my favorite writers and fellow bloggers.

I went to the fabric store to pick up some white felt and elastic so I could make the Santa beard my oldest daughter was worrying about for choir the night prior.

I picked up a new box of eye patches and vitamins for my husband.

And I went to a movie of my choosing. Birdman. Just the way I like it. Artsy, a little edgy, well-crafted and deep.

Before I headed home, I stopped at a party store and picked up a birthday card for the birthday party my son was heading to in less than an hour.

On the way home, they began calling me. My mom first, then my husband. Where are you? When will you be here? Cooper needs to get to the birthday party. We need the card and the gift card. And you need to get home in time for dinner to be delivered. When are you coming?

Mom had offered to watch the kids for the day. And I needed a break, so I took her up on it.

It was worth it, so worth it. I was, and still am, incredibly grateful for my mom’s offer and presence those 24 hours.

But my day away was coming to an end.

I opened the door to a happier place than I’d imagined in my mind on the car ride home. Everyone was fairly settled. Sure, they needed the card and gift card. Sure, he needed to get to his birthday party. Sure, my mom needed to get back home to my dad. And sure, dinner was going to be delivered in 35 minutes. Sure, things were fairly well.

But I was still needed. Back. Here in this place I called home.

I was empty. I was filled.

So goes the emptying and filling.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

 

 

 

It’s been five weeks and one day since the doctors told my husband he has eye cancer. A lot has happened in one short month. In fact, I told you Wednesday that I wanted a do-over.

Let me do this month all over again.

Let me try again, God.

Can’t we get it right this time?

But time machines don’t exist. We can’t press rewind on life. We can’t go back and change the course of history. And we can’t deny or shame God for what He’s allowed. There isn’t a simple magical formula for going back and erasing all the things we’d rather not have experienced in life.

But we can embrace the mystery. We can trust, hope and believe that good can and will come from anything. We can relive moments and see beauty in all things. We can choose to live what we love, and love what we live.

I’ve learned so much about love on this journey through eye cancer.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and my husband’s still upstairs in bed resting from last week’s radiation and hospitalization. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and he still has to wear an eye patch and shield whenever he sleeps (which is still most of the time). Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and my husband won’t be able to pick up our baby girl and spin her around because she’s too much weight for the stitches in his eye. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and we won’t know if the tumor is shrinking until June. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and we won’t be celebrating with flowers, romantic rendezvous, sexy lingerie or 50 Shades of Grey.

Yes, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. We’ll enjoy a special meal out…as family. We’ll send the kids away…to their bedrooms. And we’ll hunker down quiet…on the couch. My husband with his eye patch, and me with my fleece pajamas and fuzzy socks. We’ll watch some romantic flick I chose from Redbox, and if we’re lucky, we’ll enjoy a glass of wine or champagne before we fall asleep all too early.

When we wake up the next morning, when we transition into the next two weeks of my husband working from home, we’ll remember the love we’ve shared and the love we’ve been shown. And we’ll know, more than ever, what true love is.

Love is patient.

Love is sitting for hours on end in waiting rooms and hospital rooms. Love is remaining silent while you watch a loved one come out of anesthesia. Love is caring for kids when a loved one simply can’t. Love is holding and lifting, getting wet and washing hair day after day when nothing about you says stylist. Love is understanding sleep patterns that never seem to end. Love is listening and forgiving when a loved one shouts out of fatigue for the poverty, sickness and misunderstood dreams of this world.

Love is kind.

Love is delivering a meal to someone you’ve met two times. Love is leaving a gift and words of encouragement for someone you barely know. Love is gracing someone with your presence, caring for someone with a knock at the door. Love is a hug, a look, a call, a text expecting nothing in return.

It does not envy.

Love is being glad when your loved one’s lavished on. Love is resting confidently when your loved one’s receiving more meals, more gifts, more paid time off, and more attention than you. Love is chilling out when your loved one’s getting a lot more sleep than you. Love is extending grace to yourself when your sick spouse is funnier and wittier than you are.

It does not boast, it is not proud.

Love is remaining humble at all times. Love is bowing down to meet the needs of others. Love is remembering that you, too, will need care someday. Love is knowing that anything could happen in an instant. Love is recognizing that healing, restoration and reconciliation is not up to us, but God.

It does not dishonor others.

Love considers whether a picture would be appropriate to share on Facebook or not. Love does dishes. Love changes eye patches and dirty sheets. Love acts without recognition. Love keeps things private when it would be easier to shout out wrong-doings to the world. Love behaves bravely, boldly and beautifully.

It is not self-seeking.

Love is staying home when you’d rather go out. Love is forgoing your night to make dinner for someone who really needs it. Love is going out of your way to buy someone a piece of cake. Love is allowing him to nap while you do everything else. Love is waiting in quiet spaces while you’d rather be moving right along with your own agenda. Love is laughing when you’d rather cry.

It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love gives. Love forgives when it’s really hard. Love remembers, but moves on anyway. Love sends emails, texts, messages and cards. Love expects nothing in return. Love graces those who don’t respond they way we’d like. Love never presumes or assumes. Love waits.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

Love is brutally honest. “You need to get out of bed now.” “You have no idea what you’re doing.” “You need to take care of yourself.” Love goes above and beyond. “You’re brave.” Love is wise. “You’re going to make it through this.” And love rejoices long before it’s justified. “You will celebrate.” “Spoiler alert: the tumor is shrinking.”

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love keeps on keeping on, even when it wants to give up. Love presses into hard things, ugly things, unseen things. Love delights in beautiful small things. And love knows it’s never easy, but always worth it.

Love never fails.

Love keeps the end game in mind. Love is a legacy. Love is faith with skin. Love travels and draws near in all things, at all times.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.