Survived the traveling. Survived the literal bitter winter cold of Winnipeg. In all the rush and storms, I am grounded in gentle love. Traveled with my parents now in their 70s - it was to bury my father’s mother - and while my dad still has some fire in him, I saw his fierce gentle love for my mom. He was so patient with her, her gait a little more wobbly. He always gave her the shopping cart to help with her walking. The way they teased each other over things like dry hands and cold heads in -12F weather. They were tired, and this funeral solidified the fact that they were now the elder generation. But under it all, they were together, in love and in prayer, in conversation and at pace with one another.

And when I came back to my apartment complex, I’d let my boyfriend know I needed help with my bags. He came to our underground garage with our utility cart, hair still slightly damp (it’s gotten so long now!), in one of my favorite sweaters he’s got, and when I got out of my car, he simply peck-kisses me a few times, then we pulled back and pressed our foreheads and noses together, eyes closed, gently breathing together, arms wrapped around each other.

He reminds me, along with my parents, that love doesn’t have to be passionate displays of high energy. Rather, the quiet surrender to the other, the choosing of each other to be together, syncs me into him more and more each day. He’s my anchor, my rock. He’s not my everything, we both are our own persons. But we love each other so wholly and truly as we are, within the limits and respect to uphold each other as such.

He is my sweet reprieve after a hard journey.

I sincerely hope everyone can find love like this in their lifetime. We are so surrounded by extremes that the quiet, gentle love that isn’t sensationalized gets dismissed as “not enough”. Oh my friends, it is more than enough. ❤️