What Love Looks Like (In Dirt and Sweatpants)

I often describe my 11-year-old son as something close to an immovable slug. It’s not an insult — just an affectionate, painfully accurate description. He’s sweet. He’s smart. But when it comes to getting off the couch? Let’s just say inertia is strong with this one.

So when I asked him to help me unload dirt from the back of our small pickup truck into the new garden boxes I’d built for my wife, his reaction didn’t surprise me.

“Umm… I’m busy right now,” he muttered from his position on the sofa, deeply committed to Roblox on the family laptop. He was wearing sweatpants, an old T-shirt, and his entire posture screamed, I plan to move as little as possible today.

“No, you’re not,” I replied flatly.

Cue the sighs, groans, eye rolls, and half-baked excuses. The usual routine. But a few minutes later, we were standing outside next to a wheelbarrow, both of us with shovels in hand, loading dirt under a gray sky.

He stared at me — eyes half-lidded, hoodie up, posture slouched — and asked, “Why do we have to do this?”

Honestly? It was a good question.

Neither of us particularly cared about flowers or fresh produce. These weren’t our garden boxes. They were Mel’s. She’s the gardener, the one who finds peace in soil and joy in watching things grow.

I thought for a moment. Then I said, “When you love someone, you serve them.”

He looked at me, unconvinced.

I kept going, telling him that I want him to grow into the kind of man who serves — not just his family, but his friends, his neighbors, his community. That helping others, even when it’s inconvenient or not “fun,” is one of the truest expressions of love.

“This,” I said, gesturing to the garden boxes, the truck bed full of dirt, the shovels and wheelbarrow, “this is what love looks like.”

He didn’t like the answer. I saw it in the way he quietly picked the shovel back up, like it weighed 100 pounds. But he did it. He helped me finish the job, one shovel-load at a time.

The next day, I went back to work. The kids were off school for a break, and Mel had picked up another load of dirt while I was gone. I didn’t think much of it.

Then, in the middle of my workday, she sent me a photo.

It was our son, outside. Still in sweatpants, probably. But this time, he was standing next to the truck — shovel in hand, unloading dirt.

Voluntarily.

She hadn’t even asked him to help. He just started working. And when she asked why, he shrugged and said:

“Because I love you.”

That simple sentence hit me like a ton of bricks.

It turns out, he was listening. Maybe not with excitement. Maybe not with enthusiasm. But he heard the message. And more importantly… he chose to live it.

That photo made me prouder than any test score or sports win ever could.

Because in that moment, he didn’t just move dirt — he moved closer to becoming the kind of man I hope he’ll be: someone who understands that love isn’t just a feeling.

It’s a shovel.
It’s sweat.
It’s choosing to serve — simply because you care.