There are various philosophies about human communication. One of them suggests that we all have a "love language." And whether that's actually saying "I love you," or leaving notes, taking photographs for someone, sharing a fishing trip, or doing projects/chores for a loved one -- we each feel more loved when our "love language" is spoken (received).
Carrie and I had a nightly ritual as children. It seems like we had a special handshake that ended with, "Goodnight, I love you, sweet dreams." My Grandma Aggie and Great-Aunt Millie would have their daughters dial, and would converse over the phone every day about all the goings on. Sprinkled throughout the discussion would be, "That's the bunk!" That funny phrase was part of their love language -- it showed empathy. Carrie grew up and married a Lea. In the Lea family, they always follow family prayer with a group hug and a rousing chorus of "Surrre love ya!" Mom grew up and looks forward to green skype lights on her computer in Africa, so she can talk with her children every day -- it's part of her love language --
I find that I like it when Star writes me notes. I love to post them and or re-read them at any time. He has become a good little writer over the years. Matt Christmas shops according to adjectives: he heads to the cosmetic department and buys products that say, "lovely," or "stunning" etc. in the title. The item itself does not matter to him.
This week was sandwiched between two funerals. The result was some self-imposed self-reflection. On the back of the funeral program for Ellis Austill, a man two years younger than my Dad, was a poem. On the front was a wedding photo and the words, "Eternally Yours." Many references were made by the speakers and his children about the kind of love he had for his wife. Currently a wife myself, I know that there are times when life does not make marriage easy or blissful. I believe that those that have "good marriages" have made a decision to work at it and treat love as an active verb.
Br. Austill's favorite poem was this:
My Best Friend, My Wife
You placed gold on my finger,
You brought love like I've never known,
You gave life to our children,
And to me a reason to go on.
When I need hope and inspiration,
You're always strong when I'm tired and weak,
I could search this whole world over,
You'd still be everything that I need.
You're my bread when I'm hungry,
You're my shelter from troubled winds,
You're my anchor in life's ocean,
But most of all, You're my best friend.
Now here's the thing that got me: Ellis always carried this poem with him -- in pockets, wallets, on camp outs --everywhere. What does this say about the covenant he made (the love language of our Heavenly Father) to his companion and to the Lord?
7 comments:
i used to carry mementos with me. reminders of things, promises, loved ones. it's been a while since i did. i am feeling repentant.
thanks, stef.
I enjoy reading your blog. Thanks for letting me stop by.
I'm always afraid to carry things with me for fear of losing them. 'Course that's probably why I've put cash is "special places" that I never seem to be able locate later.
When we were first married, Star used to carry around a little dull poket knife to "protect" me. I've noticed that he doesn't bother anymore:)
Jillyn---
I'm so pleased to know you're here. I read yours to -- It makes me feel more connected to all of you.
So, I don't know how or when it happened, but as I read this, I'm realizing my level of sentimentality has really gone down over the years. I'm certainly not saying I'm not a baby, and that things get to me less these days. If anything, I'm getting worse. But I just never think of this kind of stuff.
Nan is really good at it--at least the thoughtful love notes and whatnot. Though, I wouldn't call her sentimental either. On the other hand, she does carry loads of stuff around in her pockets...for months on end. Receipts, candies, my library card, hair ties. Maybe I've been missing something. Maybe these are actually mementos. Evidences of affection. For Target. And Costco. And the day 8 years ago when we bought that box of Hot Tamales. Maybe she's a sentimental little gal after all.
Freg -- Maybe you should reach in the deep shadows of your memory and see if those 8-year old hot tomales are significant for some particular reason...like maybe you said something to Nan you never had before...something like, "You're HOT, babe.." I don't know. Maybe next time you should offer smarties.
Thanks for this post. It's very sweet. I hope me and my hubby die on the same day. I get anxious when I think about our lives resolving any other way.
I think my love language is gift giving. Is that one of them? Maybe I just like getting presents.
Rep,
I don't know. When Nan read the post she said, "You've never given me Hot Tamales."
She's wrong. But I guess that shoots my hidden sentimentality theory.
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