He Writes His Love Letters With His Life

February 13th.  The day before the big day.  Hearts, roses, chocolates, gushy (expensive) cards…  Valentine’s Day is on display in full force and the pressure’s on.  Who do you love? Who loves you? How much do they really love you?  Tomorrow has so many expectations packed into it.  I will admit the cynicism in me makes me balk at the commercialism of the whole thing.  The mom of boys, the grandma of boys, married to a boy… I’m a no-frills kinda gal and must admit most of the hype goes right over my head.  Really, is this what love is all about?

This summer the adorable hubby and I will celebrate 35 years of marriage.  When I look back and calculate that this means I was 19 years old when we stood under that persimmon tree and recited some very serious vows, many thoughts flood my mind all at the same time:  We were so (too) young!  (At the time I felt very mature and that I had life by the tail. I’d had my own apartment for two years! hahaha…)  What were we thinking?  (We weren’t thinking, we were in love.)   If only we knew then what we know now.  (Thank God we did not.)   Oh Jesus… thank you, thank you, thank you for your grace and kindness toward me.

This empty-nest era leaves much time for contemplation and assessment. In between delightful and life-giving grandson encounters it is easy to slip into look-back mode.  The quiet, slow, winter months are fertile ground for my heart to think way too much about the big things in my life.  This winter has been no different.  And so this day before Valentine’s Day 2012 I have some thoughts about what love, from my perspective, really looks like.

Love is making waffles with peanut butter on Sunday mornings for the adorable grandsons.  Love is endless readings of the same books on Grandpa’s lap, now with the help of a pair of readers.  It’s everyday, little things (that really are the big things), like unlocking the garage door every morning before I dash to work and vacuuming when the velcro-schnauzer has brought in and sprinkled throughout the house whatever has fallen from the trees this week.  It’s finding that leak in the room that always wants to leak and fixing it so we are cozy and dry.  It’s keeping the warmth from the woodstove going during the cold, gray days of winter, knowing how much his bride hates the cold, and that somehow this warmth makes winter a bit more bearable for a heart that yearns for summer days.

Love is summer beach house vacations with the amazing sons, beautiful brides and adorable grandsons, building sand creations on the beach that draw oohs and ahhs, and cuddling a napping pooped-out boy under a beach umbrella.  It’s teaching your almost-five year old grandson how to bodysurf, watching for the perfect wave, knowing when to wait for the right one.  Love is loading up the beach wagon with every item needed during a long day in the sand, packing to perfection so not one essential is missed.

It’s listening to grown sons who are now men as they share dreams and ideas.  It’s seeing that look in my eyes after a very long day at work and suggesting dinner out at my favorite restaurant.  It’s working hard even though work is slow during tough economic times.  And love is laughing and making me laugh at all the right times.

I guess Valentine’s Day isn’t all that bad.  Roses are okay.  Candle-lit dinners? Fine.  But the things that still make this heart leap have nothing to do with what retailers have to offer.

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