I was silently disgusted on Super Bowl Sunday at one particular ad. This certain ad was a floral company cunningly implying that if the men of the world would send their woman flowers, they would get “lucky.” It was repulsive. It sort of made my skin crawl as I was sitting next to my fifteen year old son and wondering what impression that was making on him.
Send flowers = get lucky.
I have been contemplating love all day. It is Valentines Day in here in the good ole’ US of A.
1 Corinthians defines love so differently. Love is patient, kind, it doesn’t envy, boast, dishonour, or is proud. Love isn’t self-seeking, isn’t easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. Love delights in truth; it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.
Wow, love doesn’t really have much to do with flowers. Don’t get me wrong, I am not against flowers but they don’t define if you are loved or not.
Tonight, while sitting in a semi-crowded mall eating Chick-fil-a with my favorite men (Brad, Drew and Jackson) I realized that love was staring me in the face.
Love is sitting around a table talking, laughing, and reminiscing about our day.
Love is more than getting lucky . . .
Love is taking turns getting up at the crack of dawn to drive your son across town for football practice.
Love is holding your tongue when you are frustrated.
Love is spilling out words of encouragement.
Love is the reassuring glance from across a room that you are the only one.
Love is a quick text during the day showing you are thinking of each other.
Love, in marriage, is getting lucky. Sorry, Mom
Love is picking up the clothes next to the hamper, silently.
Love is doing the dishes without a dishwasher.
Love tucks your kiddos in at night.
Love holds you close in the darkest of nights.
Love gives. And it gives some more.
And then gives some more.
“We love because He first loved us”
When we realize how lavishly we have been loved, we can liberally love those around us.