Love is a verb.

The older i get, the more this love business gets clear. Not crystal clear, see right through the glass clear but clear enough to notice the muck at the bottom of the glass.

We have often thought of love as that which is expressed werbally, through written  word, an sms or email, or snail mail letter. We have even thought that getting others stuff is loving them, that gifts, flowers, chocolate etc. but i have come to realise that words and feelings are not as important as doing.

I can categorically say that loving is doing. Its doing and continously doing for those we profess to love. They may be things we love doing like taking them out for dinner, things we dont like such doing driving through the traffic and out of your way to pick them up,  it maybe things we absolutely loathe doing like spending the holiday season with their awful relatives but doing it anyway. It could even be things that we would rather be caught dead doing such as wearing that "just wrong" dress your husband got for you with such enthusiasm.

Love is my dad driving through crazy traffic after a long day at work to come pick me up to take me to the hospital. Love is my mum cancelling her weekend plans to come and babysit my daughter so i can get some rest. Love is my sister curtailing her night out with the girls to get home early to help me out. Love is my brother and his girlfriend's quiet and efficient mobilisation of all the family to assist whenever am unwell. Love is indeed a verb.


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