I have always been a transparent, straight-talking person. When I’m in a good mood, I find someone to share my joy with. When things don’t go my way, I make sure that those around me hear of my grievances.
I knew from the moment my question went unanswered. Up until that point, what I had to say always got her rapt attention above anybody else’s (you know, besides Jesus). For the past nine years, we’ve been inseparable.
I’ve never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. I understand dedicating a day to celebrating love, but somehow I’ve never been able to reconcile the ideal of love with the paraphernalia associated with the holiday.
Prince Philip, the husband of Queen Elizabeth II, who recently celebrated 70 years of marriage, once said, “If a man opens the car door for his wife, it’s either a new car or a new wife.” There’s a nugget of truth in this joke: novelty fades in marriage as much as anything else.
I was sitting in church, listening to our pastor, when my eyes fell on the couple a few rows in front of me. They did something cute—maybe she leaned her head on his shoulder or he kissed her forehead—that caught my attention.
I remember distinctly the speaker’s call that Sunday: give one year of your life to missions. It was during the “missions month” in my church.
The morning breeze mercilessly blew above the walls and enveloped any brave soul standing in its path on a frigid, December morning at dawn’s break.