Valentine's Day

Another Valentine's Day is lurking around the corner.
My earliest memories of Valentine's day are those from Elementary school. The days I was petrified to accidentally give a boy in the class a Barbie themed card that said "I love you" or "Be Mine". I was careful to give those only to my girl friends. I strategically plotted out who in the class deserved which special saying. My dad helped us make the greatest Valentine boxes. The greatest ones being my brother's, shaped like a train engine or a car.
My first horrid Valentine experience was when a boy in the class addressed my Valentine to "Missie". I was mortified! I could not believe someone would spell my name that way.

I don't remember many Valentine's from middle school and high school. I know for a few years I wore pink, but always said "I should've worn black today" to my friends. I always tried to act like the girl that didn't care about love and thought it was dumb. Clearly a defense mechanism. It was simply a way for me to guard my emotions against feeling sorry for myself that there wasn't a boy in my life. It was how I coped with feeling invisible, how I delt with wanting an Aaron Carter look-a-like to surprise me with flowers.
My parents always made Valentine's day special. Mom would put little chocolates and notes in my lunch, Dad would get my sister and I flowers, and I am thankful for that. They helped me understand that life was not about boys and trying to be noticed. They told me that I was special and loved and that is all I really needed.
Valentine's Day of my senior year of high school is one to remember. I headed to my locker after one of my classes and was thrilled at what I saw! A beautiful bouquet of flowers and a precious stuffed bear croweded in amongst my backpack and books. Sweet mom. She knew that I needed to be surprised and feel special. My brother had my locker combination and put the flowers in at some point during the day. Yes, as a 17 year old girl I will admit I was disappointed that they were from my mom instead of a boy. But I still had flowers on Valentine's day, and I knew I was special.
Every single Valentine's Day in college I hoped for a flawless bouquet of one dozen bright red roses to show up at my apartment door . Much to my disappointment, no such flowers ever surfaced.


And now, here I am. Twenty-three years-old. Gearing up to face another Valentine's Day.

There is nothing bad about Valentine's Day. It just makes me hope for something I don't have. A hope that isn't quenched by dinner with my girlfriends or flowers from my dad. I love those things, but its like buying an imitation Coach purse from China Town. You know its fake, and when the excitement of back rooms and sketchy vans wears off, you still don't have a designer purse.

I swing from one extreme to the other. Attempting to convince myself that I absolutely do not need a man to improve my quality of life. Wishing I had someone tall enough to wear my four inch heels with. Flooding my thoughts with scripture that God has a plan for my life which may or may not include being married. Reminding myself of all of the guys who have crossed my path and why I'm thankful I didn't just "follow my heart." Blaring Kelly Clarkson from my ipod as I run off my frustration and confusion. Knowing and believing that Jesus, by Himself, can show me how unconditional his love is for me.

After all that, I always end up right in the middle, hoping for flowers.