Valentine’s Day is Stupid

I was 16 years old on the Valentine’s Day of my sophomore year of high school. I remember the cold and quiet ride on the big yellow bus as well as I remember the echo resounding in my lonely heart. I remember the longing I had to love and be loved. I had a big crush on a boy at school, and a lot of fantasies about how I wished the day would go, but the realist in me knew what the day would produce; oodles of girls walking around with bouquets of roses from their boyfriends while I watched, flowerless and romance-free. I knew from watching the movies I loved (Pretty Woman, Pretty in Pink, etc.) that being in love was the highest and best state of existence, and being single, was, well the absence of that. I remember clinging to my seat and praying, “God, would you just please help me to get through this day?” Back then Valentine’s Day was a day to be endured. Even as I mocked the practice of romance with my “Men are scum” attitude, I secretly wondered what it would be like to have someone look at me the way Duckie looked at Andie.

Our television died yesterday. I heard my youngest child scream, “Mom, the TV screen is fuzzy.” And then I heard my older child holler, “It’s smoking! The TV is smoking!” And I secretly rejoiced. Because truth be told, I hate that stupid machine. I feel like all it does is spew lies at me and my family, and I want nothing more than to be rid of it. But I knew the death of the boob tube meant we would be soon be shopping for a new electronic box to menace our sensibilities. The reason I say that is because for so many years I formed most of my opinions by what the people in the box said. The people in the box who wanted to sell me yummy food showed me pictures of happy people eating Panteras Pizza(What a hunk!) and then in the same breath told me beauty is akin to body shape(see my previous post). I had been a news lover until Ferguson(my hometown) took the headlines by storm, and I watched helplessly while almost every media outlet spun the story of my neighborhood into their version of the truth, which is to say un-truth. It was the first time I began to wonder if I had ever seen anything true in the news at all, or was everyone trying to sell me something? Even if all they are selling is an idea, I have learned that ideas have as many consequences as calories. I say all of this, not to make anyone feel badly for partaking in entertainment via the television, but rather to point out the irony of that old adage, “Seeing is believing.” Because if seeing is believing, being thin will make me happy much the same as eating Oreo’s via cold milk. And everyone living in the real world will–at the very least–attest to the fact that you definitely cannot have both at the same time.

So today we were standing in Wal-Mart looking at a row of boxes that were flashing bright colors and I felt sick. Literally. My stomach hurt and I was crabby. But my husband was of the mind that we need a new television lickety split and so there we were. I was trying to determine what kind of television would best suit our needs(the smallest and cheapest) while my husband was eyeing the larger/flashier models. All of this because he won’t let me get a used TV at The Salvation Army(not fair). And my children were trying to ram each other with the cart while complaining and whining. And when not complaining or whining, they were asking if I would buy them various movies and devices. It quickly became apparent that my husband and I were not going to come to agreement any more than the children were going to lay off the shenanigans. So we gave up and left. And all I could think was, “Is this how I’m spending Valentine’s Day? What a rip off!” I have yet to see a Lifetime movie that ends with the lovers squabbling at Wal-Mart over televisions as part of their happy ever after.

I think Valentine’s Day is stupid. I just want to throw that out there.

I think it’s stupid much the same way I think health magazines are stupid. They put a zero body fat chick on the cover to catch my attention(make me feel bad because I will never look like her) and then write a catchy headline like, “100 Best Diet Tricks Ever”. Don’t get me wrong, love is a wonderful thing. And we should always strive to love others as much as possible. But real love is different than being “in love” and I don’t think we need a designated day out of the year to celebrate being “in love” any more than we need skinny people to sell(guilt) products to fat people. Love is not a commodity to be bought or sold. Real love, the love that lays down ones life for another, is rare and precious. It is the reason I wrote the names of my children in my husband’s Valentine Card. And the love I have for my family is something I never anticipated or expected when I was 16 years old and thought my world was over because “nobody loved me.” I thought love was flowers and chocolate and gooey looks over spaghetti and meatballs. I didn’t realize love was working 6 days a week(50+ back breaking hours) to make sure my youngest child has a roof over his head and insulin in his Humalog pen. I didn’t know love was biting my tongue in the middle of Wal-Mart because my idea of entertainment and my husband’s idea of entertainment are two different species of animals. And I certainly didn’t know love could be as tender as the sloppy kiss of a 7 year old after saying, “I love you, Mommy. I wish I could make your tummy better.”

When I was 16 years old, I loved the snow. Snow meant snow days(no school!). Snow days meant a good book in bed and a belly full of chocolate. Snow meant a good movie and a crackling fire. Snow made me happy when little else did. So I remember riding that bus on that cold day on the 14th of February and wishing like the dickens that it would snow so I wouldn’t have to go to school and be tormented with images of romance and “love”. So when I stepped off the bus, forlorn and despairing, and saw the first few flakes falling from the sky, I had to stop and ponder what it meant. I remember looking up into the sky as cold, white pieces of precipitation fell onto my eyelashes. And I remember the tears that formed in the corners of my eyes as I looked to the heavens and considered that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t so unloved after all. Because if God had seen my sad and sorry heart and sent snow just for me, what Valentine heart full of Russell Stover’s chocolate could be better than that?

It snowed in St. Louis today. I was walking outside early this morning–trying to get some exercise before church–while praying that God would help me not to give up when I most wanted to. I was tired, discouraged, and 2 pounds heavier than the day before. And I was especially crabby that the Valentine Candy I purchased for my 14 year old somehow found its way into my belly the night before. I’m not proud. In fact, I’m terribly ashamed. So there I was, walking(skulking) up the most difficult hill on my route, when I felt the snow on my eyelashes. I looked up to the sky and felt His answer like a soft kiss on a bad boo boo. Like the strong and steady hug of a good friend after a terrible loss, or a genuine smile from someone you thought hated you. And I considered that God’s best gifts to me are always unexpectedly beautiful. Even(and especially) when they come on (stupid) Valentine’s Day. And my prayer for everyone reading this blog is that one day you too will experience that kind of love. It is real and it is true. And it is much more wonderful than the ending of that cheesy romance movie that makes your heart swoon, or that high-calorie sweetheart box of chocolate, or even those pretty flowers. Not that any of those things are bad. But God’s love is the only thing that cures all my sadness–and that to me–is the best gift of all.