When my husband and I first fell in love, we couldn’t say “I love you” because it didn’t capture what we were feeling (a million bottle rockets inside a bazooka the size of the sun + a perfectly lit match). We have a code phrase that I won’t share here because I don’t want to break the magic spell. But even that fails to cover the feeling at times.
With this bazooka and match, he and I have illuminated each other’s hearts. We have warmed our homes. We have created a fiery-hearted child.
But we have destroyed each other’s hearts too. Shattered them to tiny pieces and watched them be buried by the blowing dust. I call all of it love, but especially the times when we carefully dug through the wreckage and pieced things back together.
Sometimes the beautiful explosion of love shines on our greatness. Sometimes love is being so blown open that we don’t recognize who we are. All of it counts. All of it is a story worthy of being told.