Love is a promise

    Been watching love stories for the last few days.  Say Anything, Grosse Pointe Blank, Sense and Sensibility, Life is Beautiful.  I watch these movies and smile as my sweetgirl snuggles a little closer.  We’ve been married 13 years, and it has brought my life great joy.  So what do we have to say about building a life where love can flourish?  I say this….

    Love is a promise.  It is not in my guts, because my guts have crap for brains.  It is not in my emotions, cause that is an untrustworthy sensor.  And on top of that, my emotions are very very self centered.  Is love all about me?  Is love never trying hard?  Is love about me doing what I want when I want to?   

    No.  I have found that love is a promise.   A commitment.  A promise across time and space and even hurt.  No matter what happens in this life, I will love my mother.  There is this connection from a life together. There is this familial bond that binds us together in a world where everything is falling apart.  I will always love my brothers and sisters.  We have blood and history that binds us across a nation.  And I will always love Angie.  I have made a promise before God and man to love her.  I have let my guard down with her, and she with me.  We are in this till the world falls.  And because there is this backdrop of forever, we can be vulnerable.  We don’t have to be afraid of being left.  Of not being good enough.  The promise creates a space for real love to grow.  The love that takes years and years of trust.  

    I have promised to love her.  And that sometimes expresses itself in the giving of gifts.  Sometimes in hugs and sweet nothings whispered.  Sometimes in making a meal or seeing a movie I don’t want to see.  It means learning to die so there is room for two wills instead of one.  And the promise is the foundation.  The promise is the ceiling.  The promise are the walls of this great house.  The vow made holds, and the house grows stronger year to year.  

    Legit, 13 years in, it is better than it was on day one.  It is sweeter.  It is richer.  Now, it is different.  But that doesn’t mean it’s bad.  And in this season of young children, we don’t go out on dates whenever our fancy carries us.  No.  We are both dying so that these children may live.  

    In the end, I guess love is promise to die to self that WE may live.  The ME dies so that there can be a WE.