Lumpy Love

Looking through old photographs is heart shaped. Remember that moment right there? Everyone felt warm on the inside. See those kids over there? The toothless ones with the dirty faces? They are bigger now. On that one, the nose looks different and the round features have sharpened. They, those kids, are pops of love, bursting forth with radiant goodness.

If I keep scrolling with the mouse I can travel 5, 10, 15 years just like that. What happened? When he was 2 and when she was 3 and when he was 6 the minutes were long and the days longer.

Make a family tree. That's what the teachers always say to them. Make a family tree. I stomp. Really? Again? But I melt. Those teachers don't do it for them. They do it for the yous and the mes. The good ones know. The good ones are also heart shaped. Even though I mumble under my breath, they are heart shaped teachers. Learn about your tribe. That is what they are telling them. Know your tribe. Add them up. Put them in rows and then stack them in your heart.

The pictures tell the story of love. You know the story. The one Paul talks about in the bible when he is talking to those Corinthians. When you look at the pictures you know exactly what he means, Paul and that whole love thing he is trying to tell those Corinthians. Lots of preachers at weddings read that love thing, the one Paul says to the Corinthians; what they outta do. But when you are up there in your expensive dress and he's in his rented tuxedo those words are like the flowers; they are just decorations. The rain could wash it away.

But when you scroll that mouse past 15 years you finally understand what Paul was trying to explain to those thick skulled Corinthians. The unperfect moments, those are the love moments. That was the year I was mad at her. That was the before the time her mind got sick. That was the time all the cousins were sticky and laughing because their hearts were so full that they didn't even know it. Those are the old people. They know so much they can't even tell us because we would never even believe them. They shake their heads in disbelief because they know we'll finally understand when the days get shorter.

Mostly they don't care too much about themselves any more, the old people. All those things they cared about when they were us, well they've figured out that getting the last cookie isn't so great. Because if there aren't enough cookies to share then it really isn't a fun party. I can see a glimpse of it. I can see a glimpse of how we are supposed to love. It's like riding your bike as fast as you can and taking your feet off the pedals. It's pumping your legs till the swing won't go any higher and you put your head back and float. It's sharing the egg beaters when there is cookie dough. It's belly laughing with your best friend or your favorite cousin until your face hurts and you just might pee yourself. It is sitting with your gramma when she can no longer make words because of the 4,672,924 hours she spent with you. It's showing up. Even when you don't want to because you don't know what to say or it might be awkward or uncomfortable and it certainly won't be glamorous or profitable. It's undivided attention. The real love, the love that isn't just red, but sometimes it's green or purple or even black, it's heart shaped because it isn't about me at all. It's about you and them.

Looking through old photographs is heart shaped because it tells the story of lumpy love. When you put all those photos on a tree and you look at your tribe and you look from beginning to end you can see that love is spelled differently. It's got more than four letters. If you look real close, love looks like it is spelled S A C R I F I C E.