So the premise of this post may not even be valid, but its conclusions are. Trust me … been there, done that.
The phrase, “Make Love” may have been started during the sixties “Free Love” movement, but nevertheless, we all know what it means today, at least to those of us over say fifty years old. Blend that into today’s millennial generation and I expect it generally means something a bit “deeper” today. Everything is a bit “deeper” these days, huh?
My premise for this article is that love may not be made. Period. It may be nurtured, it may slip up on you unnoticed, it may evolve, but it may not be made. You simply may not make love.
I use the phrase “may not” rather than “cannot” because I believe it is “not allowed” to make love. Otherwise someone may think they have made love and inadvertently muck things up for someone else.
I contend only God may make love and that the resources required to make love are as unknown to us as are those required to make our universe. But have no doubt, love was made for us, the humans walking this planet. We might notice it, might recognize it, might embrace it, might reject it.
According to Wint (that’s me by the way), love just happens to us. It may be possible to kill it, but this is in doubt and likely also not possible. God gave us discretion so we might protect ourselves from undue harm, and so we might discern that a particular relationship is not healthy for us and so we might attempt to “kill” love that exists therein. We might squelch the emotions temporarily, or even long term, but I expect the source of that love will be with us always. I hope so, for I have experienced love denied, usually from those I have wronged, and I hope, through amends, to have the honor of that love again one day.
Often have I witnessed apparent lovers attempt to publically make love, even going so far as to proclaim said love in an act of matrimony, only to see the realization of my premise act itself out in a subsequent act of divorce.
I married my wife in an act of love, but it is only after twenty-four years of marriage that today I know the true depth and texture of my love for her. I was so moved during our vows on our wedding day I cried. Yet, it was more a desire to be with her, to have her, and to make babies with her than what I know today as my love for her. So, even after publically proclaiming my love, I found love years later creeping up on me so strongly that last week I cried again, but this time it was privately with only my wife, where and when I professed a deeper, and stronger, emotion I call love which is quantitatively different than what I felt on our wedding day. Neither my wife nor I made that love. It is separate from each of us, yet shared between us. For so long have I loved the idea of loving my wife more than I actually love her. I am passionate about this. I am confused by it all. Do not accept what I write, but do watch out for love. It will be on you before you know it. Promise.