Have not I written to thee excellent things…?—Proverbs 22:20
I always wanted the men I dated to write me love letters. I’m a writer, after all, and words are important to me. I fantasized about receiving flowery notes expressing the dream of romance I cherished, telling me how much I meant to the man with whom I would spend my life.
Then I met Keith. He was much shorter on words than anyone I’d ever dated; I don’t think he’d ever written a letter in his life. But he was good at action.
On our first date, he brought me roses. When I got bronchitis, he brought me soup. He was always concerned about my feelings, and he couldn’t do enough for me—except that no matter how much I hinted about his writing me a letter, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. In my heart, I clung to my long-nurtured image of true romance.
After a year, I resigned myself to the inevitable: I’d never get a love letter. Then I had to go out of town on business. I packed my suitcase, and Keith drove me to the airport.
At the conference hotel, I opened the suitcase. On top of my clothes was an index card that read, in Keith’s awful handwriting, “I love you.” I realized then that he had been giving me love letters all along, only he wrote them with his heart.
Lord, You often know what I need before I do.
