Love is truly blind. How else can you explain the way people love each other? And put up with each other? No, not blind but maybe crazy: it has its eyes opened and still loves.
It’s very odd the way we love each other; sometimes he drives me mad; sometimes, no doubt, I drive him mad, but we manage to cling on to something bigger than minor irritations.
It’s the same with the children, I suppose, only more so. They, too, can drive me mad, but I love them. If I can see all this love and how I, in spite of my human failings, can express it and feel it, and know that I could never not love them, why do I struggle with your love for me? Why do I find your love so hard to believe in? Why do I imagine that every little, or not so little, misdemeanour, is another black mark which will make me less lovable? Do I love my children any less when they’ve been naughty? Of course not.
Do you really love me because of my good points? And in spite of my bad habits? Do you really love me just because I’m me, your creation, your child?
I know you love me but there’s a big difference between knowing in my head and grasping in my heart the truth of that love.
Maybe it’s just warm feelings that I’m looking for, cheap thrills, an easy ride.
Thank God my faith has stronger foundations than that. It isn’t built on feelings; I can continue believing even if I don’t feel ... even if I don’t feel.
But a cwtch now and then would help.