As I type this, it is Valentine’s Day. I only know this because practically every other post on my Facebook scroll is a loving tribute, often with a picture or two, or many – and sometimes with original poetry! – from my friends to their wives or husbands. It’s beautiful. I love it. It doesn’t make me sad to see it and read it. I am so thankful that romance is still flourishing in this world. Or at least it’s flourishing today, even if the origins of this day as a time set aside to honor a martyred saint of the early church have been mostly forgotten, and even though the day has been hi-jacked by purveyors of candy and flowers, and by The Hallmark Channel, for the purposes of profit.
But, I hope all of you who are in love will celebrate this day with each other. Go ahead and indulge in the commercialism that has become what Valentine’s Day is all about. It’s ok. In fact, it’s even a very good thing. Our hearts and our treasures are inextricably entwined. There’s no use in denying this truth. And so, on this special day, you have the chance to demonstrate, on a heart level, what you treasure. I hope you won’t miss this chance.
Because these chances are limited.
Today is the first Valentine’s Day I have experienced without Renee. Oh, I know – technically, there was last year too. But Valentine’s Day last year was about three weeks after she died, just a couple of weeks after the funeral. I guess Valentine’s Day happened last year; I suppose it came and went as usual for most of the romance-flourishing world. If it did, good. But it left no impression on me. I was still in too much shock last year to notice.
But today, Valentine’s Day has returned. And today, I can see it, I can sense it, I can feel it. I can almost touch it – almost.
It’s a breezy day here. The beautiful plant my friend placed by Renee’s Memorial plaque on the anniversary of her death has blown over three times today, so far. I keep finding myself going to the window to see if it has fallen over again, almost hoping it has, so that I can go back out and place it upright again, so that I can see her picture on the plaque again, so that I can read the inscription again, so that I can try to remember again.
Through the years, we had some great Valentine’s Days. Awesome dinners, both at home and in nice restaurants; perhaps a short hotel stay. At least I think we did. Surely. We must have. We didn’t reject the idea of Valentine’s Day, so, yes, that must be true. Others were probably less amazing - good in their own ways, but not spectacular. A card, some flowers, watching a Hallmark movie together. Maybe others were even lower key than that – just a, “Hey, I really love you today”, as we passed each other on our way to handle the important, the urgent, the necessary things of the day.
Isn’t that the way it works? In busy families with many things going on – many really important things, many really urgent things, many really necessary things? Things that I thought, at the time, were more important, more urgent, more necessary than acting like and talking like, and actually being a loving husband on a silly Hallmark holiday?
I don’t know. If you can’t remember specifics, then gee, how special could this special day have been each year? Maybe that means I flunked Valentine’s Day. Oh surely, not every year. Maybe not even most years. But enough; more than I should have. And each time I flunked it, each time I messed it up, each time I failed to love her like the husband God called me to be, or even like the husband I wanted to be deep down, I probably tried to think that it wasn’t really all that big of a deal. “So what? It’s a fake holiday anyway. Who cares about all that romantic stuff on Valentine’s Day? Not Renee; not really. She’s much too practical for that. Besides, I’ll get it right next time.”
Until there was no next time.
And all of that makes me sad today - sadder than I had thought this day would be.
Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd
