For a blog called ‘Love Haqtually’, there really isn’t very much about love itself on here. That’s simply because it’s just so darn hard to do justice to the concept. Much of what’s written about love focuses solely on romantic love in its early stages. Sure, love is transcendent and magical and may just involve locking eyes and lightning bolts and dodging giant boulders just to be together. Those love stories uplift us from the drudgery of our everyday lives and are the lived experience of a select few. But love is also an everyday occurrence, and to deny its everyday manifestations is to deny ourselves so many chances to be grateful for its quiet, unceremonious presence in our lives.
Love is when you get up for Fajr and stub your toe because you’re trying to keep your eyes closed (it’s easier to get back to sleep that way, right?), but instead of getting mad you just laugh because you love Him enough to try it again tomorrow, this time with at least one eye open.
Love is all those times when your mother tells you to do the dishes, but you ‘forget’ and she quietly does them herself.
Love is that look spouses give each other across a crowded room which says, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go home and eat ice cream on the couch.’
Love is this morning, when my mother ironed my shirt for work because she knows my ironing is terrible.
Love is every time my father tells me to hold my folk like I’d hold a pen. Love is when he persists in telling me, even though I get annoyed and keep holding it like a bag of potatoes just to annoy him back.
Love is when your best friends take you out for hot chips and gravy because you’re miserable over some boy/girl who didn’t want you. Love is when they pretend to be interested every time you moan about some boy/girl who didn’t want you, when all they really want is to eat their hot chips and gravy in peace.
Love is in the silly nicknames your siblings have for you and all the times they forgave you for snapping at them over who got the remote control.
Love is me staring at my wriggly baby niece, marvelling at her wrinkly fingers and toes and spongy head.
Love is snoring on each other’s shoulders in front of the television. Love is folding socks and taking out the garbage on a Tuesday night and passing each other the butter across the table before being asked.
Love is remembering those who are no longer here and sending up a brief prayer for their forgiveness, not often enough because you’re forgetful, but often enough.
Love is knowing He forgives, always.
Love is posting a soppy status about your wife on your anniversary and getting 50 likes.
Love is sitting in the passenger seat as you drive home in silence, sleepy and full of food.
Love is not giving up even when you just can’t be bothered. Love is holding your tongue when you know it would be the most satisfying thing in the world to say, ‘I told you so’.
Love is those thousand forgettable moments of tiny kindnesses and concessions amongst the few memorable chocolates and flowers and fancy, overpriced dinners.
Love. The extraordinary thread running through and holding together the ordinary. This is love.