Thoughts on Love Notes

It’s just a little scrap of paper. It has doodles on it. A jagged edge from being torn out of a spiral notebook. It’s torn in places and it’s been folded so many times that I have a hard time unfolding it for fear that it will break into pieces. It mostly stays in my wallet, and I mostly don’t even remember it is there. But every now and then I see it and pull it out and remember.

We were sitting in church, Micah and I. We were engaged. I was in school, he was working. I was extremely stressed about the wedding and being in school and probably moving to Hawaii right after the wedding as well. I don’t really remember what was said or done, but I started crying. And I know I wrote a note to Micah trying to explain what was going on in my head, but I don’t remember what I wrote or really what was going on in my emotionally compromised state. There was some talk or mention of prizes and winning or something — probably in whatever was being said in church. And the reason I know that is because he wrote something on his little piece of paper, tore it out of his notebook, and handed it to me. And that’s when I’m sure I started crying more because he wrote:

  • the prize is you.

(Bullet point and everything. Except the dots on the i’s.)

I folded it up and tucked it away in my wallet and it has been there ever since. (I should probably find a safer place or hope my wallet never gets lost or stolen — which I hope anyway, of course.)

But I was reminded of this because a friend sent me this link yesterday and got me thinking about the writing I do. Blog posts, essay ideas, journal entries, story ideas, shopping lists. I haven’t written a letter in years. And yet I think a lot about writing, I do a lot of writing, and suddenly it seems as though the most important writing I could do, the greatest legacy I could leave to my children and grandchildren and great-granchildren in writing would be love notes to my husband. But of course that is not the reason I would write the notes. My posterity would benefit, I am sure, but the notes are, or would be, for Micah. For our marriage and our love and our life.

The things that I write about — and the way that I write them — shape the way I think and feel and respond to my world. Often I feel like I write about being a mom so that I will be a better mom. I write about running so that I will continue to run and to love running. So what better way to improve my marriage, to keep me looking for ways to be a better wife, to remember how much I love my husband, than by writing about it? To him.

Just something to think about as we enter the month of love . . . .

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2 Comments

  1. This might be the most inspiring thing you’ve written yet- and that’s saying a lot my dear!

    [Reply]

    lizzie Reply:

    Thanks Stephanie . . . now if I could just get myself to sit down with a pen and paper . . . .

    [Reply]

  2. I really like this, Lizzy. It shows you keeping in touch with reason, self control, and humor in what could be an emotionally supercharged situation. Your analysis keeps you from descending to the world in which you in turn lash out and pummel. By ascribing rational behaviors to irrational babies and toddlers, you give yourself distance and control. Eventually, they will learn to accept the human condition, grow to love and even rely on sibs, and give up violence as a tactic. It will be so much easier for them to do this and come sooner if reason has locked up their parents’ anger and frustration, as you demonstrate, so that responses are measured, proportional, and non-violent. Good job, Lizzie.

    [Reply]

    lizzie Reply:

    Thanks Aunt Ruth. It is really funny to see them navigate their innate physical/emotional responses to situations with the things we are trying to teach them — like what I wrote in today’s post about pushing and shoving followed by, “We don’t hit. You need to do nice things to others if you want others to do nice things to you.” It’s sinking in slowly, and it is encouraging to see their progress.

    [Reply]

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