The persistent and quiet revelation woven into my days is that of love’s identity. Something we almost eagerly overcomplicate with our desires, expectations, and insecurities - all while viewing it through the lens of our life experience - love’s identity is truly as simple as the relationship between my daughter and that lone dandelion.
She saw beauty peeking through the ordinary. It beckoned to her simply by existing exactly as it was designed to. She reached out because she is love. She is so very much love that she can’t contain it all within herself; she must share it. She is compelled to. She chose that flower and cared for it tenderly, perhaps not exactly the way it was designed to be cared for, but the way she knew how to. And she did so with love.
She adored that dandelion. The way she spoke of it exuded adoration - from how beautiful it was to how it blossomed to the hope she had for its future. Even her eyes demonstrated that adoration; it was impossible to not see her heart.
Her beloved dandelion has remained closed all day today, but her love remains open. Acknowledging its state, she anticipates what is to come and not just because she knows what follows this stage in a dandelion’s life, but because love always hopes. And the love that has continuously and tenderly cared for this dandelion is because of one simple thing:
Choice. My daughter chose to see that flower. She chose to see its beauty instead of focusing on all the reasons it shouldn’t be there. She chose to care for it instead of reasoning herself out of it, and she chose to care for it tenderly. She chooses to hope for what is coming instead of worrying about what may or may not come.
She chooses because she loves. She loves because she chooses. Reciprocal, interdependent, and simple. Love’s identity is choice.