I definitely didn't want to grow old and be boring fuddy duddies like my parents, who, from my perspective didn't really love each other that much, because they didn't kiss and hold hands all the time, like people in love should do.
Then I grew up.
Then reality set in.
Then I saw life from a different set of eyes.
Adult eyes.
I remembered my parents. My juvenile judgment about what true love really was, caused me shame. For, in the years since I met my own prince charming (Who, by the way, isn't perfect, does not ONLY think about my needs 24/7, and doesn't read minds.), I have come to know the meaning of true love.
True love is caring for others more than self.
True love is about learning how to be selfless.
I watched this in my parents marriage. I watched my dad put aside his own desires, wants, and needs, to help my sick mother. He came home from work each day and got right to work at home making her burden lighter. (True love, that my teenage eyes didn't know.)
I woke up early Saturday morning, with a strong pain in my lower back and was terribly sick all weekend long. A kidney infection that left me with chills and sweats, a loss of appetite, and my body prone on the couch. Knocked on my can, I was. My husband spent the weekend caring for my needs, and the needs of our 3 crazy boys. He did the dishes, cleaned the house, fixed meals for the boys, got them ready and took them to church, picked up my medicine, got some movies for me--just because, drew me a bath, went to the store, practiced piano with the boys, and much more. Without me asking.
You see, Friday night he told me he needed to go to work on Saturday because he had so much stuff due this coming week. Not going to work on Saturday for him surely means a stressful Monday.
My husband gave me the best Valentine gift ever. Not roses, not fancy stuff.
Just himself.
Happy Valentines Day
