Today is the first day of November, a very important month in my marriage, as well as my parents’ marriage. During this month one year ago, my husband and I got hitched. During this month twenty-five years ago, my parents tied the knot. Now, you might recall a few months ago, I revealed twenty-five random facts about myself, in celebration of my twenty-fifth birthday. Yes, my friends, I was three months old at my parents’ wedding. My mom had just started college and my dad was just about to turn eighteen when they committed their lives to each other. They had a rough start, to say the least, and in honor of their commitment to each other, I want to dedicate some time and space at The Literary Wife this month to talk about love. Throughout the next thirty days, you will see a few guest posts from friends sharing their thoughts on love. First, you get to hear from me. . .
Although I am normally very loquacious, I want to keep my thoughts today simple. Love is not a feeling, but an action. Though people do “fall in love” with each other and experience deep emotions towards each other, in the end, love is characterized by commitment in action. Love is a verb. The day that I stood with my husband and exchanged vows verbally, I knew that for the rest of my life, I would need to back up those words with actions. Does that mean that I need to wash the dishes every day and clean the house every day and cook every meal for him every day to prove that I love him? Absolutely not. It simply means that I should be willing to do those things for him every day because of the love that I have in my heart for him.