What does love look like? A fathers big, strong, hands holding a newborn infant? A grown daughter cradling her ancient, dying, mother? Newlyweds kissing? All of these things, I think. But it also looks like bacon.
Most mornings I get up early and fix a little breakfast for my husband before he goes to work. Nothing fancy... scrambled eggs, some sausage, maybe. Or, bacon and an omelette. I pack him a sandwich for lunch while breakfast is cooking, then I head outside to take care of the animals and milk the goats. I am generally not hungry for breakfast when I first wake up. I'm happy to cook it, but not interested in eating any of it. Once the critters are cared for, the kitchen cleaned, the grooming studio ready for the days work, I might make myself a smoothie or something before I start work.
A few days ago I made Chris 4 small slices of bacon, and a couple fried eggs. I called upstairs that breakfast was ready then headed outside. An hour and a half later, when all the animals were fed, watered, milked, patted, admired and loved, I came back inside to clean up the kitchen. And I found this. One of the wee slices of bacon I had cooked had been left there, for me. And I realized, it might look like a sliver of fried pork to most people, but to me, it looked like love.
Love that I had gotten up and prepared for my sweetie before he went to work, and love that he had sacrificed eating something as delicious as fresh bacon to leave for me. Yup. A bit of tasty, crispy, love. I enjoyed every bite.
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