I Like You

PB and I exchange cards on Valentine’s Day.
That’s it.
No flowers, no candy, no fancy dinner out.

Even buying a card seems extravagant these days. Next year, I’m going to take my love to Walmart and peruse the valentine section, pick out a card, have him read it, then put it back on the rack. I may even give him a kiss right there in aisle three. We might hold hands as we walk out to the parking lot. With the money we saved, we could pick up a burger and fries and eat it in the car on the way home. Sounds perfect.

This year, however, we did splurge on cards
and PB found just the right one for me.

Forty-two and a half years ago,
we promised to love and cherish each other.
I’ve never once doubted PB’s love for me since that day.
We never promised to like each other though.

And there have been many days since August 25, 1979 that I’m pretty sure he didn’t like me too much. I know that because there were some days I didn’t like him either. But we loved each other still.

Love is a given.
We vowed to love each other
and every day we choose to make good on that promise.

But to be liked?
That’s different.

It means he would choose me for a friend even if we weren’t a couple.
It means he appreciates my quirky ways, even finding delight in them.
It means he’s genuinely interested in what I’m doing and where I’m going.
It means he would rather have me along than go somewhere alone.

He doesn’t just put up with me.
He likes me.

I think it’s possible that my Valentine card is a reflection of Divine Love.
Sure, God loves us. He has to. He promised He would.
But I also think He really, really likes us.
He chooses us,
delights in us,
is interested in us,
desires us to join Him.

“This is what the Lord says… You are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

How sweet it is to be liked by You. ❤️

Love Story: The Tent

Chocolate box valentine days flowersFebruary is the month of hearts and cupids.  Unfortunately, I’m a rather vapid valentine. I’m allergic to chocolate, so a heart shaped box of candy is as good as a death wish.  Flowers are ok, but they don’t stay fresh for more than a few days and then they die. That disturbs me.  Greeting cards are good, but knowing that someone got paid to come up with the lovely heart-felt script inside is a little weird.

What’s a guy like PB to do?

I know what I’m going to do: this month, in honor of St. Valentine, I’ll share a few scenes from our own personal Love Story.

Episode #1: The Tent

PB and I met at a church event.  My brother was the youth leader for the weekend so I went along for the ride. Within five minutes of our arrival on Friday, I was keenly aware that the pastor’s son was ca-uuuute.  We spent the weekend learning about God and trying to impress each other, and then exchanged addresses before leaving on Sunday.

After a few months of writing letters to each other, he suggested coming to see me.  Did I mention I was 14? And he was 16?  And he had to take a bus 180 miles?  And that he planned to stay for a week?  My poor father didn’t quite know what to do.

Even as a teenager, PB was resourceful and charming.  He pitched a tent in our backyard.  Yes he did.  And he played his harmonica outside my bedroom window.  It’s true.  The one night it rained, my dad let the boy sleep on the porch.  But I bet all the doors were locked.

 The guy in the tent in my backyard started winning my heart in 1974.