I set the vase on the shelf. Light pours through the window dancing off the rosebuds.
They look so pretty sitting there.
I look down.
The remnants of an early morning wake-up and Bible bookmarks. I’m tempted to move them. They’ll soil the picture of perfect.
The thought comes to me,
Real love like real life has no boundaries.
This real love gift is part of my real life: flowers, saline solution, receipts, and all. There aren’t walls to erect that’ll keep the messy out. It’s all part of my life…this love.
We have stains and drop popcorn on the floor. We leave the bathroom door open and talk about things that’d embarrass. Circles darken our eyes and we wake-up with morning breath (who doesn’t?). We get frustrated, lose tempers, and can’t hear each other over the noise the kids are making.
We steal kisses in scattered, scrambled moments. We laugh and hold those heart connecting moments in seconds instead of hours. Often I laugh at the romantic notions I had in those early days.
To be romantic love had to fit a certain picture: clean, reliable with a hint of spontaneity, filled with flowers and songs strummed and long walks under the stars.
That was before kids and pain and the hard places and the just getting by…before the in-between became real life back when I still held love as that wedding day photo in a gilded frame.
But this—
this love is better. It’s real. All of it. And it’s ours for the taking.
Real love is more than a perfect picture.
It isn’t pristine. It may be little smudged around the edges, but it’s hardy and tough. It’ll last long after the perfect picture fades.
Perspectives of real love said better than I:
- Prince Charming’s Not a Fairytale, He’s a Myth (The Gypsy Mama)
- A kiss is a kiss and sometimes it’s more… (Pensieve)
- A Marriage Advice Moment with John Piper
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