Tuesday, February 14, 2006

A bigger word than love

On Sunday evening I invited my e-mail newsletter subscribers to share the love letters or poems they were planning to give as Valentines to the special men (or women) in their lives. Reading all of the responses was a deeply moving experience, and I've promised three of my romantic friends an autographed book in exchange for permission to post their expressions of love here on the blog. I think you will enjoy these:

From Mike Anderson to Amy, his wife:

We need to think of a bigger word than love, because it's just not enough to use the same word as everyone else to express how I feel about you.

From Julia Allen to Ron, her husband:

Even when passion has been replaced by apathy, I choose love.

Even when our chests have fallen into our drawers, our hair color has faded to gray, and our faces need ironing, I choose love.

Even when you do something that leaves me angry or frustrated or hurt, I choose love.

Even when our lives are collapsing, our future uncertain, our faith failing, I choose love.

Love is not the passion we felt the first time we kissed.

It isn’t the attraction we felt when we first saw each other.

It isn’t the mushy feelings we have when we do something to make the other happy.

It isn’t the comfort of knowing our tomorrow.

Love is the choice to stay, to give, to forgive, to remain faithful, even in the ugliness and pain of every day life. The nose-to-the-grindstone, don’t want to, wish I were anywhere but here, day-to-day choice to love.

This is the choice I made on our wedding day, even though I didn’t understand it then.

This is the choice I make today, knowing full-well what it will cost.

So, this Valentine’s Day, and every day,

I want you to know,


From Jeanie Smith Cash to Andy, her husband:

There is no greater thrill in my world, than to hear you say I love you. The Lord gave me the greatest blessing He had to offer, in you as my husband. I hope you know you light up my life, with just one smile. You are my safe place. I can come to you and know no matter what I need, you will always be there for me. You hold the key to my heart and my happiness. I love you with all of my heart, now and forever.

Happy Valentine's Day!


Anonymous said...

those are so sweet!
but the best is, Julia &Ron's letter

have a get Heart Day!! :)


Darni said...

Beautiful . . . but I also love the personal true story you posted below.

Brenda Coulter said...

Many thanks, Darni and Janice.

Happy V. Day to you both.

Mirtika said...

I didn't have a chance to submit mine. I was too busy salivating at how hunkalicious my hubby looked in the bright sunshine. (He took today off so we could enjoy.)

I actually felt like I was 22 and dating him. He looked adorable and my bosom was heaving. A good, good day. :)

And though he offered to take me anywhere for dinner (since last week for reservations' sake), I really just want to snuggle on the couch and watch a DVD and eat home-made pasta and chocolate truffles.

No diet today!


Mrs. Hunkalicious (aka Mir)

Mike said...

Drats...I wish I found your request for valentines essays sooner. I wrote mine here ...http://spaces.msn.com/michael01612/blog/cns!2D894EF96C8FC0!743.entry

No One Touches My Feet
by Michael Foley

No one touches my feet. I keep my feet to myself. Perhaps because they are so far away at the ends of very long legs. Perhaps because I have sprained and broken my ankles many times. Perhaps because a few toes curl over, rather ugly, as if they are gripping something. I do not know why really...but I do not like people to touch my feet.

One hundred times greater than this urge to have no one touch my feet is the urge to have no one touch my eyes. They are incredibly sensitive, safely ensconsed behind eyeglasses. If anything approaches my eyes my eyelashes alert me, for when my eyelashes are touched my eyes quickly close. Blink. No one touches my eyeballs. Ever.

Except once.

This one woman I knew touched my eyeballs. And not just touched them. I do not know why I let her, or how she could do this...my urge to protect them is great, and involuntary. But she touched them.

Her warm breath would sedate the eyelashes, I think. And then a flick of her tongue across them would stun them and put them in a deep sleep, paralyzing their urge to initate a blink. Then her lips would shut, and as she opened them, slowly, they would pry apart my lids so that my eyeballs lay bare. Then her tongue would touch my eyeball, unbelievable as that sounds I cannot barely believe it as I write. The wetness of her tongue mingling with the wetness of my eyeball, enveloping my cornea, and then shooting down to the corner where the tears come out, ever so gently.

But that was just once. No one touches my eyeballs. And no one touches my feet.

Camy Tang said...

These are great! Terrific idea for V-Day!

Brenda Coulter said...

...unbelievable as that sounds I cannot barely believe it as I write.

Me either, Mike. ;-)