Thanksgiving on Valentine’s.

She takes slow, cautious steps. Her back now in a permanent bend from years of arthritis. Seventy-four years on earth she has been, and I wonder at her life. I wonder at the what she’s seen, what she’s felt, what kind of work she did that caused her spine to bend low and forget how to straighten up. She’s always smiling and her voice is  soft and tender, always like music to my soul. I know she’s in pain and I know she has a disease that’s slowly eating at her memories, threatening to take away her knowledge of who she is and I know she’s still smiling, always full of grace.

I watch as her husband of fifty years holds her hand. I watch as he presses his hand to the small of her back always guiding her. Softly and gently. I watch as he takes her coat off. I hear her tell him he’s so good at helping her. He is always patient with this wife of his, this love of his life. He’s smiling at her.  I wonder about their love. I wonder about their fifty years together and what all they have been through, what all they will go through the rest of their years. Trying not to think about the fact that one day, she will not know who he is and he will have all these memories, and she will have none.

I listen as they tell me they’ve been together since highschool, both smiling while talking. She still remembers this, these memories not yet robbed.  I watch as he looks at her with adoration.  I watch and listen and soak in this love they have. Their love permeates. Their love is full of grace.

I think of Jesus. I think of His love for His bride. I think of the gift of Grace. Watching them I’m reminded of His love for us. His hand always gently guiding, His voice always soft, always patient. His adoration of us, His bride.

I look at them and know he will always be guiding her, reaching for her hand because she is forgetting.

I look within and thank Him for always guiding me, reaching for my hand, even when I forget to reach for His.


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