St. Valentine, Love is Not for Cowards!

Postcard found in my mother's jewelry box.

I'm always uncomfortable with Valentine's Day.  I get nervous because it seems like expectations get in the way of reality for both men and women leaving a pathway for helplessness, disappointment and confusion.  I loath the ads for teddy bears, rose bouquets, chocolate covered strawberries, pajamas and whatever other inventive things marketing experts come up with.  The man that loves me would know those gifts would be the easy way out, buying silence and a smile but not really reaching deep into my heart.  I want a man who knows that any time of the year the simple bouquet of tulips, the love note left on my car window, the respectful conversation about my bad habits or the drive out to the river with sandwiches is valued over how many roses I get on the 14th.  It's easy to suddenly remember you need to show someone you love them one day a year while you've been busy with life.  Steadfastly showing you love them the other 364 days is what's hard.  

The truest love I know is the one I saw my parents had for one another.  They first met on the steps of the catholic church in Portland.  My father had just come from Germany with his "Doctorate of Mercantile", the touted brilliant nephew of the Columbia Brickyard and Building Supply founders.  I've seen the pictures.  Both my mother and father looked young, painfully thin and scared but eager to begin a life.  As they would tell the story, it was love at first sight.  My mother always said she was "18 going on 19" when she married my father and every time I would howl with laughter at her defense of marrying so young.  

I don't recall my father ever buying my mother a dozen roses but his skill at growing roses was legendary. The early morning hours he spent in the rose garden propagating, pruning and feeding each plant in his quest for the perfect rose led to many breathtaking bouquets on days other than February 14th.

Our strawberries were grown in a raised box so my mother wouldn't have to stoop over to weed them.  Dipping them in chocolate wasn't necessary since her strawberries were warm, sweet and juicy right from the plant.  We chose not to mask the taste of an honest strawberry grown in the earth, using rain water and real sun instead of a plastic greenhouse to ripen.

Where have we lost our way?  Teddy bears?  Pajamas?  My parents used what we had.  These things were handed down.  Each of us was a conduit for stuff that passed through our hands to the next until no more passing was possible.  Valentines wasn't a special day.  It was a way of living a life with meaning and a commitment to daily acts of love no matter how hard it seemed in the moment.

Little is known of St. Valentine but historians believe he was a real person since acheoligists uncovered a catacomb and a church dedicated to him.  It is believed  that he was martyred for not renouncing his faith and was found guilty of aiding Christians who were persecuted and marrying couples in a Christian mass.  For this he was beaten, stoned and finally beheaded sometime around 270AD.  In 496AD, the pope named February 14th as the celebration day in honor of his martyrdom.

My parents on their wedding day

St.  Valentine is the Patron Saint of Lovers, bee keepers, engaged couples, traveling, against epilepsy, plague, fainting and more.  As you can see,  he has been a very busy saint, called upon to intercede for a variety of reasons.  Most of all, he is known for his commitment to his beliefs and determination to his love of God, willing to give up his life rather than give up his love.

Some believe love shows a weakness and vulnerability.  Not my parents.  My mother showed such a fierce love for my father that no one, not even her children could come between them.  My father had a  steadfast, strong and committed love for my mother that never wavered even in the darkest times.  The name Valentine comes from the same root as valor or valiant, which implies a nervy stouthearted undaunted strength which is what is needed for real love to endure. Chocolate?  Roses?  Pajamas?  Those are for the cautious and timid, weak of heart.  Cowards all.  When it comes to love, St. Valentine teaches us that love takes strength, commitment and fierceness.  St. Valentine showed us love is not for cowards..              



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