Valentines Day. It is predictable, reliable, a constant. It falls on the same day every year, and yet somehow I am never prepared for it. You see, I have this guy. He’s a good one. The best gift giver of all time, no lie, simply because everything is so thoughtful. He truly pays attention, and it makes my heart do this flutter thing I will never get used to. So starting in January, I make list after list of gift ideas, writing down clues to his heart and doing my best to listen and – gasp – remember. Against my best efforts, nothing on my list is worthy and I end up stressed instead of looking at the truly magical thing about this cheesy hallmark day.

In all the drama I created for myself, failed research on the perfect gift and such, I started thinking about true love and why I am driving myself insane over the importance of something to represent my love. Agape love. That is what I have found, first in the best example out there, and then in the blessing He gave me. Agape: sacrificial, the end of ones self for the joy of another,
thoughtful true love. It’s so nice to have a day set aside to drown things in pink and red and sprinkles and lace, but I had to stop and remind myself every day should be a little bit like this.

In the end, I got lucky. The gift was simple: A day in the kitchen making his favorite meal and dessert earned the biggest smile I’ve seen since he discovered the new “Fight Night” game was going to be entertaining. The evening was spent with smiles and full bellies, my last valentines day without a Mrs. before my name.  I won’t get gushy, but I’ve got so much love for my Beyonce.

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