Moon’s full bright against the dark as we drive to dinner on Valentine’s night.
Snow is piled so high on the sides of the road that it’s a challenge to see oncoming traffic. After a long day at the office at the end of a week full and wearying, he safely maneuvers us around two accidents.
And him protecting my heart even better.
Then remembering that he forgot. The card. The one with the red hearts and loving sentiments that he didn’t buy. And him feeling badly but with all the snow that needed shoveling and then more snow, working full-time and involved with other projects, and an online class, and even with his smart phone alerting him, he forgot.
Me gently assuring him that he could forget all about it.
Because he remembers so much more.
Not just on the 14th of February, but all the days in-between. Those days of getting up early, and logging long hours, and making me tea first thing every morning and sending me letters handwritten with love for no particular reason.
Love sent daily in the doing large and small is my living card.
A poem in motion. Flowing, evolving from God’s heart through him to me. Ordered and beautiful following God’s way, best way. And me becoming more like the One we serve because of this one good man’s devotion.
If he never sent another card but continued to live his love for me like he does — with the murmuring sweet nothings in the still of the night, and the bouncing his eyes, hungry gaze resting only upon the girl who bears his name, and keeping the vows of marriage day after day, and loving me with Jesus love even in the hard, it wouldn’t be less.
For there is more in the daily ebb and flow of our life together that fills me in ways no Hallmark handiwork ever could.
My hand in his, I am his wife. And he is my gift and my joy.
His love for me a work of art that paints a picture a thousand words could not express. Colors mingling in sunset hues catching the Light in all its glory and me glowing and us mixing day by day, becoming ever more etched upon each others’ hearts that I wonder where he leaves off and I begin.
Moment by moment, all through the years, me falling like snow ever deeper.
And it’s not what my husband — or yours — does on one day flush with flashy commercialism, restaurants and roses overpriced, that shows how much he loves.
It’s the little things long remembered and consistent that count big in a marriage.
Like how he listens to my heart, not just my words. How he washes me each day with the water of the word, and throws in a load of wash when deadlines loom and I forget. How he leads us out of the past pockmarked with blemishes and bruises into God honoring marriage minus fears and hurts that we hurdled over in earlier days of our union.
Or how he calls in the middle of an ordinary afternoon to let me know with words certain sure that he is thinking of me and just wanted to hear my voice. And me at that moment taking photos beside a snowy lake and my heart all melting right there wrapped in winter’s chill.
For all of it I become a better wife. And a better woman, the one God created me to be.
And the gush and fuss over this one lovers’ holiday means what exactly? Red lace trimmings lacking, the gift of love real diminishes?
But God gives each day as celebration in life and marriage with the holiness of two as one, one man and one woman wed, sharing love behind closed doors or in the kitchen cooking or caring for one another sick or staying up to company keep with a spouse who cannot sleep.
Love is in the laying down together and the laying down of pride, and in each going lower to higher lift the Lover of souls who is outside of time and dates on the calendar.
Love is sacrifice — costing much more than any card — of priceless value like our Savior sweetly giving so that we might receive and live and learn to give.
Love as God loves.
Practice making love more perfect each day. Imperfect human hearts turning, touched by the perfectly Divine spark setting flame afire. Encompassing all.
And we give and receive what is lasting, what never fails, in the moments fleeting that make a life.
Choosing love again and again until all breath is gone…
All our longings end in love.
If your woman’s heart needs to talk one-on-one with a woman who has experienced and survived no small amount of pain and darkness, you may want to consider C2: Comfort and Conversation.
And if your heart is breaking? Or someone you know is hurting?
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Counting, ever counting, His gifts…
215. A call in the middle of the afternoon just because
219. Full moon and a dinner date
222. White twinkly lights and tulle