Love and Kleenex Boxes

When I think of Valentine’s Day, I think of . . . kleenex boxes. I’m so ancient that I have fond memories of my craft-challenged mom and me, her equally challenged daughter, spending hours creating Valentine’s “mailboxes” (from kleenex boxes) for the cards I would get the next day at school.

Back then we didn’t have to be politically correct and give cards to everyone in our class. So I carefully analyzed who did and didn’t give me a card. (I might have been young, but I wasn’t above revenge and grudges.) And, I also painstakingly scrutinized each Scooby Dooby Do Valentine’s card that I gave. Because there was a big difference if it said, “Dooby do you want to be my valentine?” or “Be my dog-gone Valentine” and I wanted to be perfectly clear with my intentions (or lack thereof).

I’m also old enough to have had the privilege of actually celebrating Valentine’s Day at school. Some schools can’t do that anymore. Apparently love has become such an offensive topic that Valentine’s Day can’t be mentioned. Schools just ask confused children to bring mushy, affectionate cards to pass out to everyone in the class, without a clue as to why they are doing so.

And, of course, Valentine’s Day makes me think of love. I’m fairly perplexed at how current generations process and show love; and maybe it’s just me, but here is how I recall love being shown, clear back from the 1960s:

First love: We weren’t smart enough to hide or fight love. We just swung and played in the sandbox. We didn’t even know about cooties.

Second love: We’ve grown up a bit and if I should like you, I will act like I hate you. This could involve throwing mudballs or calling you “Stupid” - all the while hoping you would get the message that I like you. (Not sure which gender came up with that winning plan of action.)

Third love:  I won’t talk to you in public if my life depends on it, either to say nice things or pretend-hate  you. I will sneak glances at you across the classroom and go out of my way to pass you in the hallway. But most of all, I pass messages through mutual friends. (Who aren’t paid near enough as intercessors and note-carriers.)

Fourth love: We can now “date,” “go steady,” “go with,” and be officially girlfriend/boyfriend. This experience rivals the world’s largest rollercoaster ride.

Fifth love: Get married. (Ahhh, marriage – what a novel concept!)

Sixth love: K-I-S-S-I-N-G….first comes love; then comes marriage; then comes Susie-Q pushing a baby carriage…Which just leads to grandkids and AARP.

Looking around, I realize there is a lot of breaking up and carrying on these days with this thing called love. But if you happen to decide to commit to one person, you can reach Seventh love (not to be confused with Seventh Heaven).

Seventh love: You stand beside the hospital bed and hold the hand of your Seventh level partner after a stroke or heart attack, praying like crazy. Memories flood and, in spite of years of annoying habits, you’ve never loved them more than now. And even with the possibility of death, you know you wouldn’t have traded this relationship for any amount of money or possessions.

I haven’t been in the life or death situation, but I know some who have. And they are reminders of God-intended love. What an example to those of us working our way up through the levels of love. I applaud and thank you!