What kind of man does it take to heal what another broke?
There was a time I was too bitter to admit the Bible had anything left to give me. But there's one scripture I never let go of, even after I let go of everything else.
1 Corinthians 13:4–7.
Love is patient.
And I know what patience is not.
It is not measuring your tone, your look, your breath against his temper. It is not making yourself smaller so he has less of you to punish.
Patience is the man who lets me explain without making me earn the right to be heard, who holds steady while I learn that safety is not a trick.
Love is kind.
And I know what kindness is not.
It is not hands that hurt you and then wait to be thanked for stopping.
Kindness is the man who never turns my wounds into weapons, who reminds me to eat and rest because he knows I forget that I matter too.
Love does not envy.
And I know what envy is not.
It is not a man who dims at my joy, my voice, my light.
Love is the man who isn't threatened by my fire, who sees the parts of me others tried to put out and says, “no, keep going.”
Love does not boast.
And I know what boasting is not.
It is not praise demanded for the bare minimum. It is not a man believing that not hurting me should have earned him an applause.
Love shows up without an audience. It lets my body believe it doesn't have to brace for impact anymore.
Love is not proud.
And I know what pride is not.
It is not a man who would rather break you than admit he was wrong. It is not the story twisted until you're the villain for bleeding.
Love is the man who can hear me. The man who would rather understand me than win against me.
Love does not dishonor others.
And I know what dishonor is not.
It is not your pain mocked, your body threatened, your reality rewritten until you can't trust your own mind.
Love is the man who protects my dignity like it is sacred. Especially when I cannot protect it myself.
Love is not self-seeking.
And I know what selfishness is not.
It is not a man taking and taking until there's nothing left of you but survival.
Love is the man who considers me—my life, my children, my exhaustion, my dreams. The man who never makes loving him mean abandoning myself.
Love is not easily angered.
And I know what anger is not.
It is not doors slammed while the walls shake. It is not every disagreement turned into a threat. It is not your own heartbeat pounding like a drum in your chest because you don't know what happens next.
Love is calm enough that my body can finally know peace. Love is not surviving the person who says he loves you.
Love keeps no record of wrongs.
And I know what that is not.
It is not every mistake dragged back out as evidence. It is not being sentenced again and again for things you already apologized for.
Love remembers the truth, but it does not use the past to keep you on your knees.
Love rejoices with the truth.
And I know what truth is not.
It is not being lied to and then called crazy for noticing. It is not documenting your own pain because you already know he'll deny it later.
Love is the man who does not make me fight for my own reality.
Love bears all things.
Love believes all things.
Love hopes all things.
Love endures all things.
I am no longer religious. But my spirit still recognizes the message of what was written, because I have lived on both sides of it.
He was everything that love is not.
And you, my darling…
you are everything that love is.