One day, while cleaning out our closet, I found a shoe box tucked behind a bunch of clutter on my husband’s side. Curiosity bid me, and I pulled it down and sifted through the items. There were rusted railroad nails, an antique pocket watch attached to a chain, old baseball game stubs and numerous other creased, rusted, or slightly tarnished items. My heart was touched to see the softer side of my husband displayed in the saving of each item. I’m certain every stub and nail told a story, perhaps of the first game he attended alone or the watch given to him by his grandfather who has since passed. But what touched me most were the numerous slips of paper and cards I found buried beneath it all, my young, immature writing scrawled across them.
I had to giggle at my immaturity. I love you, heart, heart, dot the exclamation point with a large heart. Those letters had touched my husband deeply, so much so that he had saved them all these years. I paused, remembering the first written love letter he wrote me. He’s not much of a talker, and even less of a writer. My daughter and I often laugh at how sparse his words are. He’s notorious for the one word email. Or, the blank email, with everything I need to know written in the subject heading. It’s not that he’s uncaring, he’s just not a writer.
Sometimes we can get so caught up in the day to day, we forget to tell our spouses how much we love them. Often, we forget to think about our love for them. I’ve said before, if you dwell on the negative, you’ll find it every time. But, if you seek out the lovely, good and pure, you’ll find it’s been there all along.