Love is messy.
Less hallmark vignettes than gritty hours.
More being held through the kind of tired that sleep can’t cure than moonlit strolls.
Love is staying while tiny fists pound the floor. Love is grace when thoughtless mouths hurl arrows. Love is freedom with boundaries.
Hard words and tender mercy.
Love is trading fairy tales for wise hope.
It is is knowing the cobwebs of a heart and it is being seen without shame.
Love has scars. It is not blind.
Love is absorbing the cost of someone else’s debts and paying them down one choice at a time. It is seeking justice without vengeance. Love is not broken fences; it is not always an open door.
Love is suffering the darkness and allowing people their own journey to the light.
Love is suffering the darkness and allowing people their own journey to the light.
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Love is holding on and love is letting go.
Love is being carried when we cannot walk.
Love is finding life at the end of ourselves.
Love is being welcomed in our brokenness.
Love is a spotless lamb choosing speckled sheep.
Love is a person.
Love has a name.
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