The Unlikely Messenger: A Slice of Life with Debra Brown
Valentine’s Day used to sting a little, even though I was married to a good man. Allen wasn’t unkind, but he didn’t “do” holidays.
I smiled when my co-worker received flowers at the office, their scent drifting across her desk. I admired my friend’s necklace and even sampled a chocolate from someone’s fancy box.
But then I’d go home to a quiet house and a husband who ignored roses, candy, or little boxes with pretty bows. He couldn’t even muster a surprise tucked into a gift bag.
I told myself it didn’t matter, but inside I felt left out, like I was missing something every other wife seemed to get.
“He’s not even one of those guys who rushes into the store at the last minute, praying anything’s available to buy,” I vented to my friend Becky. She always received beautiful jewelry, flowers, and candy. Yes, I was a little jealous, embarrassed, even. It hurt every Valentine’s Day to feel unappreciated.
Allen wasn’t unkind. Quite the opposite. He filled my gas tank without being asked, stopped by the store to pick up whatever I’d forgotten, and took care of a hundred tasks that made my life easier. Yet, when Valentine’s Day rolled around, those everyday gestures didn’t feel as special in the moment as the bouquets and gift boxes my friends received.
One day, long before I understood any of this, I asked my mom if she ever wished my dad had bought her roses or jewelry for Valentine’s. She chuckled and said, “Honey, your daddy thought the perfect gift was dinner at Booty’s Fish House.”
I laughed. “But you don’t even like fish.”
“That wasn’t the point,” she said, her smile softening. “It was never about the meal. It was about being with him.”
I tucked her words away, not realizing how much truth they held.
Years later, everything I thought I knew changed in an unexpected moment. I was walking through the grocery store a few days before Valentine’s when I caught sight of Allen in the card aisle. The overhead lights hummed, and the air smelled like those cinnamon-scented candles they always set out in February.
He didn’t see me. He stood stock-still, reading card after card as if he were studying them. He’d pick one up, read every word, shake his head, and put it back. Then he’d try another, laugh under his breath, and hold it aside. Then he’d pick up another and smile.
He wasn’t grabbing the first card he saw. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t checking the time or looking around to see who was watching.
He was searching for something—a card that sounded like us.
I stood there, unnoticed in the shadows, my hand resting on the cool metal of the shopping cart handle. My breath caught as I watched the man who never bought roses pour his heart into choosing the right words. And in the stillness of that corner of the store, Mom’s voice echoed in my mind:
“It wasn’t about the meal. It was about sharing time with him.”
It all made sense.
Allen wasn’t into grand gestures. He showed commitment in quiet, everyday ways, not just on holidays.
I bought a fancy box of chocolates for him, prepared a special dinner, and waited to receive my perfect card. From that year on, I treasured the ones that made me laugh out loud and the mushy ones that showed his tender side.
Love doesn’t always come wrapped in the ways we expect. Sometimes, it looks like fish dinners. Sometimes it’s a husband reading every card on the rack, engrossed in the messages and trying to find the one that will make you laugh or cry or feel understood.
I don’t remember the candy or flowers my friends received over the years, but I do remember Allen’s cards. Even though the words blur together, I still hold the feeling close. I cherish the intention and the time he spent finding something that sounded like our life.
God nudges us toward a clear perception of love, not through the big, shiny gestures, but through steady, faithful actions.
Scripture says it best:
Let all that you do be done in love” – 1 Corinthians 16:14.
Whether it’s roses, laughter, Booty’s Fish House, or a husband standing in the card aisle searching for the perfect words, what matters most is the love behind it.
And that, I’ve learned, is worth more than the fanciest Valentine’s gift of all.
Debra Brown’s motto is “Be the Spark.” She has a passion for family, her 3 cats, flowers, pretty food, and health & wellness. Devra is an author, UGA honors graduate/The Citadel MBA.