Technically, this blog is 365 Acts of Love, not 366, so I did you a real favor by committing an act of love for you yesterday! You’d better get me something really nice in return. Anyhoo, for my act of love, I wrote you a letter in which I make a few predictions about our family for Leap Day 2016: where we’ll live, what we’ll be doing, how many kids we’ll have, what we’ll all be like, etc. I’m going to print it and seal it in an envelope, then give it to you today. But, I’m going to tell you that you can’t open it until Leap Day 2016. I hope you can wait until then!
For my 117th loving act, I fell asleep on the couch to the TV. (That might be hereditary: my parents haven’t finished a movie in years.) Actually, I did fall asleep, so I had to do yesterday’s act this morning.
For that act, I highlighted particular words in one of your magazines to form a love letter. I felt a little like John Nash (or the portrayal of him in A Beautiful Mind) as I combed your magazine trying to “discover” a secret message. When you find the note, I’ll write about your reaction.
My letter may seem odd (because it is), but I worked with what I had:
I heart you. I have joy in you. You are better than a beautiful picture and more valuable than the finest gold.
We are a unity. We recognize that dedication and faithfulness [to each other] comes as a direct result of his [God’s] grace. We give him all the glory.
Theodore Roosevelt once said, “A legacy of money is not honoring (but good for raising goats!). The sacrifice and devotion of a dude are a lasting contribution.”
The past reminds us where we have been, so that we know where we are going. [Let us] head to care and fellowship and service to one another.
I love that you’re my wife.
Disclaimer: I wouldn’t pass around that Roosevelt quote. Although, it might end up on Wikipedia; then you’d be safe using it.
Last night, I read you this poem by John Masefield:
I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain;
I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the loveliest thing of beauty God ever has shown to me,
Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.
When I finished, you said that I was sweet to read you that poem. Then you told me that the things I said in your letter were things you prayed I would realize. Then, you asked me to read the letter to you. That would’ve been nice, but I refused because I was too embarrassed (but I wasn’t embarrassed to read you this poem? Odd.). I should read it to you if that’s what you’d like.
It’s day 50! I’m nearly 1/7 of the way through 365 Acts of Love and I’m going strong. To celebrate, I wrote you a love letter that I hid in a book on my bookshelf. If you’re reading this post for the first time, it should be late September/early October of next year (unless you somehow found out about this blog). The letter should still be there.
I wish I could say I found a clever place to hide it, like in a book called The Secret Letter or Your Husband Hid a Love Letter in This Book, but I wasn’t so clever–it’s in The Oxford Handbook of Free Will. That’s a pretty safe hiding spot, though, because I’m almost positive you won’t brush up on the free will debate within the next year (is that due to your genetics and upbringing?). I did look for books on our shelf with the word ‘letter’ in their title. There were two–The Scarlet Letter (!) and The Screwtape Letters–but I didn’t like what either choice might suggest about us. The Oxford Handbook of Free Will is on the top shelf with the other philosophical works. Go get your letter!