Acts of love are so often invisible.
There are, of course, public displays. But more often than not, love is a small thing, a private thing.
Love is quiet and unassuming. Love is serving without the anticipation of return.
The life of a family– at its best– is one small overture of love after another. A water glass filled. A shirt folded. A scrap of paper fished from the floor. These are the simple, essential motions that remind us, day in and out, that this … all of this … is worth it.
Right now, I am drained. I am tired physically and emotionally. I am tapped out.
But I am also bathed in love. The love being poured from the kitchens of others and onto our dinner table. The love of families faithfully lifting us in prayer. The love of my husband, sleeping lightly beside me and rising to help at midnight, 2 a.m., 4 in the morning. The love of our children, as they exclaim over their newest sibling and find ways to be by my side to soak in another hug or kiss from Momma.
This is the part no one sees. The hidden bit. The love.