You prayed, despite your throat hurting
so much you could hardly talk, “God give her the emotional support she needs to
live through today.”
And you
and I, we cried.
Only
culture thinks it knows what our Valentine’s Day should look like, feel like,
be like.
You saw
past the chocolates, the cards, the teddy bears and the roses, you saw my real
soul-need.
In our vows, when we married, before
God and four hundred silent witnesses, we said we’d be there for each other,
“…in joy or sorrow, sickness or
health, wealth or want, till death do us part…”
And on
that balmy evening I knew I could not prove faithful those words, spoken by a
fallen tongue.
“…With God’s Divine assistance,
I hereby pledge thee my troth.”
It’s only in the knowing God that I can
be faithful. It’s only in the
commitment of my heart to Him, daily, over and over again that I can be
faithful to this greatest of earthly gifts.
This gift of you.
My Ian.
My
Love.
When I’m sick you’re there for me. You massage my feet, hold me while I
cough and cry and check on me every few minutes to see if you can get me
anything else. You’ve been
faithful as best you know how. You
daily die to self, for me.
I
shrink sometimes from doing the same for you.
And I
know you must feel it.
Thank
you for committing to love me through it all.
The dirty house, the coughing, the
forgetfulness, the burnt lima beans, the late meals, the
attitude and spirit that does not always choose to put you first.
Thank you for committing to love me
despite myself, and despite the woman I’ve become since first you vowed to love
me.
And while the world celebrates
Valentine’s Day around us, you and I, we’ll eat noodle soup and peaches ‘cause
it’ll slide down your sore throat easier.
And you
and I, we’ll choose to live a picture of real love.
