My most meaningful Valentine’s Day
This was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had and it’s not because of what I did or received. My perspective has has changed.
As a child, Valentine’s Day tradition at school was to give and receive the cards from classmates. You didn’t have to participate, but if you must give one to every student in the class, not just your friends. I always looked forward to it, but one year I got sick and couldn’t go to school on Valentine’s Day. I was shocked when my neighbor boy arrived at our house on his bicycle carrying my Valentines. The teacher sent them home with him to let me know I wasn’t forgotten.
Someone remembered me!
In 1993 I was an exchange student in southern France. I had just started dating my husband when I left the county for three months to experience the French culture and practice the language. We missed each other a lot. After a weekend of visiting the Swiss Alps in the snowy mountain village of Chamonix, I returned to my host mother’s house to find he had sent a dozen red roses. The striking bouquet stood almost three feet tall. The extravagant display of affection showed me how much he cared and I was overwhelmed by the expense and thought it took to make that happen from another continent in the days before cell phones or internet.
He loves me!
A few years later on Valentine’s Day, we were married and life was much more serious. We had full time jobs, coaching, a mortgage, and a new baby. To pay the bills, I took care of five other children in addition to our son. We jumped into a lot of responsibility quickly and we were tired. When Valentine’s Day came, there was no card and no flowers. Neither of us did anything special to celebrate. I was sad and questioned how much I meant to him. And though we knew we loved each other, at times our relationship was difficult and we had moved past the carefree days of new love and the thrill of dating. I was often more focused on what I didn’t have than what I had.
I didn’t get anything!
Yesterday I was part of a team from our church that delivered Valentine care packages to people. We all split up and went in different directions. Many of the recipients were quarantined, living alone, elderly, caregiving, or dealing with an illness. I set out in fresh snowy roads to visit strangers, unsure of who I would meet or how our gifts would be received. Everyone on my list was widowed.
At the first house, an elderly gentleman greeted me warmly. He explained how he lost his sweetheart years ago. I complimented him on the what great people his kids are, and he quickly said with emotion, “They had a wonderful mother.” He smiled through his pain and recounted what a gift she was to him. He was joyful and his face lit up as he described his great grandchildren and the comfort of God. I was surprised when he gave me a hug as I left.
Next a widow stretched out her arms in surprise to receive the basket and started to cry. She invited me in to see her home where her photo wall evoked many stories. There she was …. young and beautiful in an old black and white photo with her husband, the love of her life. “He was a good man and I miss him. But Jesus has been so sweet to me I just can’t believe it,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. She joked that she always tells God to inform her husband that he better be being good up there because she will be there soon to check up on him. Her steps were light and she laughed often. As I left, she invited me back again and my heart was so full I didn’t know how much more I could take.
This time I traveled into the hills to a house in the woods. The fire was crackling and I was asked inside by a lady living alone. We quickly hit it off and laughed and talked as we shared stories and things we are learning. She told me of the loss of her child, a pain I have feared but never known myself. A photo of a man was hung higher on the wall than all her other frames. When she talked about these losses, she described a pain you never fully get over. Her bright eyes glistened as she described how much they meant to her.
Love is the gift.
Over and over the scene repeated. I pictured us being in their shoes one day. One of us gone, living alone, left with just belongings, memories, and pictures to share. I couldn’t wait to get home to see my husband, but I was thankful for the drive that gave me time to think. I felt so humbled by this experience to learn from these sweet souls who have lived longer than me. What do they know that others don’t? Why are some people so upbeat when others get mean and crotchety in their grief?
The answers lied in their words…
“I’ll see her again.”
“The Lord was so merciful in sparing him from more suffering.”
“I am so grateful for the time I had with him.”
“I love Jesus so much and He is so good to me. I talk to Him all the time.”
“He was a gift to me.”
There is Gratitude.
A Valentine can mean “a gift given to a sweetheart” or “a sweetheart chosen.” When the person is the gift, the gifts we receive are just extra.
There is Hope.
Paul said in I Thessalonians:
And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope.
There is Faith.
They lived alone but knew they weren’t alone. Paul wrote to the Hebrews about God:
i will never leave you nor forsake you.
There is Love.
Author Lysa Terkhurst has this to say in her book, “Uninvited.”
Live from the abundant place that you are loved, and you won’t find yourself begging others for scraps of love.
When we live loved, we love well. It matters much less what we receive, because we know how much we have been given. We don’t fear being alone as much, because we know we are never truly alone. When we lose a loved one, we grieve with hope because we know we will see them again. Every person in our life is a gift to treasure, because they are adored by our Father in Heaven.
I am beyond grateful for the lessons lived so beautifully by my new friends.