Thinking About Love

I think about love. A lot.

I didn’t used to.

Before, I used to worry about if people loved me. My husband, my kids. Strangers.

It was all about me.

I was busier then. Work, kid’s activities, parents, all of the things that took up the time of “life,” were more what I focused on.

But in that, I wondered if I was loved.

I’d even ask people.

Nothing like asking your kids, “Do you love me?”

Yes, I was a gem. An insecure garnet.

In a world that is infused with an overdose of hate, you might argue that it is hard to think about love. Newspaper headlines blast out every despicable thing that man does. Kill, steal, rape, control, terrorize.

There was a time when my hobby was fretting about all that happened in the world. I would focus on everything negative that came past my eyes, and I’d go down the rabbit hole.

That certainly took a toll. I think I got canker sores on the brain.

Even when your life is good, if you get your mind in conflict, you are going to have problems.

I have lived a lot of my life with thoughts that now, I wouldn’t give you two cents for. Sometimes, the cup wasn’t half empty … it was dry. I’d conjur and concoct crisis after crisis, in a preventative fashion. I thought if I worried about it first, I’d be ready for it, if and when it happened.

Very few happened. But scars were left on my brain.

I don’t know exactly when, or how , I changed. At least, I’d say that ninety percent of my thinking changed.

I still slip. But for the most part, I have replaced those thoughts.

You know what I replace a lot of those thoughts with?


Yes, love. P8060007_2

I love to think about love. And it isn’t a question of, “Do you love me?”

It is, “Am I loving enough?  “Am I passing love on to others?”

Love outreach is so much more satisfying than fretting.

Sharing love is what I want to do in my new neighborhood and new life, which begins anew, everyday.


Wouldn’t it be fun to see a front page where the word “Love” appeared as many times as terror or hate or corruption or murder?


Copyright 2016 Susan Hipkins DeBow. All Rights Reserved.


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