I’ve been thinking about this.

Many people think about me.  Many love me.  I know this because my phone rings.  My mailbox offers cards.  My text messages.  I am loved by beautiful hearts.

I might even find a wrapped gift at my door, an invitation to join, a plant brought by a guest.  For me.  All  are expressions of love by beautiful hearts.

So why do I not feel loved?

But I do feel loved.  Our Bears call me everyday.  My parents afford me trips and housewares and shoes.  My sister drops her work to watch golf with me.  My friend sends scripture and prayers and… love! through texts.  I am loved deeply and completely by beautiful hearts.

So why does love not feel like love.

But it does.  It feels like care-about-you, help-you, remember-you, hold-you love by beautiful hearts.

It doesn’t feel like want-you love.  Want-you love is the kind that wants to be with you, that follows you, that goes with you, that is always found beside you — at the grocery, in the car, across the table, after church, behind the screens, under the covers, atop the bleachers, on a walk.  Want-you love wants you during mess-ups and ugliness and selfishness.  It insists on making memories and building history.  It sees irresistible.  It longs for the next time.  It plans togetherness.  Because it wants you — all the time.

I’ve been thinking about this.  Love can be sacrificially given in so many ways.  How could I be this far on my walk without it?  But no kind of love takes the place of want-you love.  How can a gal walk without it?

I don’t know.