When Love Simply Shows Up

There are some memories that just stick with you, aren't there? Not necessarily the grand, earth-shattering ones, but often the small, almost insignificant moments that, years later, you realize held a profound truth. I was thinking about one of those moments recently, tied to two people very dear to me: my cousin Al and his wonderful wife, Judy.

Can you believe it? They've just celebrated 47 years of marriage. Forty-seven years! It's an incredible testament to commitment, resilience, and a whole lot of love. And when I think back to their wedding day, nearly half a century ago, the memory that brings the biggest smile to my face isn't something from the ceremony itself. It’s the story of how I actually got there.

Now, at that point in my life, I was a young man, newly married myself, just starting out. Like a lot of young couples, we were finding our feet, and let's just say reliable transportation wasn't exactly abundant. The trip to Al and Judy's wedding was several hours away, and I honestly didn't have a car I trusted to make that journey. Not for a minute. But I knew I needed to be there. Al is my cousin, and he means a lot to me. His wedding wasn't just another event; it was a significant milestone for someone I loved.

Somehow, a ride was arranged for me. I don't even remember the full details of who drove or how it came about, but I remember the vehicle. It was a Subaru Brat. For those who aren't familiar, it was a quirky, compact pickup-style vehicle. And my ride? It was in the back. Yes, in the open-air bed of a Subaru Brat, for hours. I shake my head now thinking about it. A young, recently married man, riding in the back of a little truck for a long drive to a wedding. I honestly don't know if I'd be quite so eager to do something like that today! It certainly wasn't the most comfortable or glamorous way to travel.

But back then, none of that mattered. Not the discomfort, not the strange looks I might have gotten. I wasn't the best man, I didn't have any special role or position in the ceremony, and frankly, I didn't care. My mind wasn't occupied with what title I held or what recognition I would receive. All I knew was that my cousin Al was getting married to Judy, and I loved him. I wanted to be there to witness it, to celebrate with them, to be part of their big day. If riding in the back of a Subaru Brat for hours was what it took, then that’s what I was willing to do. I just wanted to be there.

It’s funny, isn't it? The simple things we do for love, without even realizing the weight or significance of them at the time. Over the years, that memory has surfaced more than once, and the more I think about it, the clearer the lesson becomes. It’s about how love often shows up. We can sometimes complicate love so much, thinking it needs grand gestures, eloquent speeches, or perfect timing. But often, love is much simpler than that.

Love says, “You matter enough to me… that I’m going to be there.”

It’s showing up for the wedding, even if it means an uncomfortable ride. It’s being there for the late-night phone call when a friend is struggling. It’s dropping everything to help out on a hard day. It’s sharing in the overflowing joy of a good day. You don’t always need the perfect words. You don’t need a title or a special position. You don’t need anyone to recognize the effort it took for you to get there, or the sacrifices you made. You just show up.

This reminds me of what John wrote in his first letter: “My little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3:18 ESV). In other words, love isn't just a feeling or a sentiment; it does something. Love acts. Love shows up.

Today, 47 years later, I think about Al and Judy and everything those years represent: years of celebration and challenge, of laughter and tears, of ordinary days woven together into an extraordinary lifetime. I’m so grateful for their marriage, for their enduring commitment, and simply for them. And I’m deeply grateful that all those years ago, when reliable transportation was an issue, somebody helped me get there. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t comfortable. And I wasn’t the best man. But none of that truly mattered. I just wanted to be there. And I'm still awfully glad that I was.