Valentine

“Maybe the world will grow kinder eventually. Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us”

From “Franz Marc’s Blue Horses”

By Mary Oliver

February can be dark and grim in a snowy place. From my cabin on a windswept hill in New Hampshire, I am struck by the beauty of the sky and hills and the dark shapes of the forest rising above the open meadow. I love the subtle tones and wake early, stumbling into the great room and ignoring the dogs’ pleas to go out, as I’m eager to see the day emerge at dawn, whether shrouded in mist or sparkling with sun.  But I yearn for color – the lush greens and golds of the meadow in summer, the flame of sugar maples in autumn.  In this grey world of winter, the birds are the flowers….blue jays, the gang of Eastern bluebirds that stayed for the winter, and the cheerful cardinals. They come to the feeders on my balcony in modest numbers, so that I come to recognize individual birds and their personalities.  The colorful visitors seem almost as much family as my own bright parrot companions, perched by the window just a few feet from the outdoor birds.

I do what I often do when faced with a grey day or a grey state of mind – I gather my cup of tea and a few dogs, kick the fluffy cat off my chair, and sit by the window with the birds. I draw towards me the paper, the treasured pigments and paints, and fill my life with color. Red and purple, gold and silver, green and blue. Even a simple doodle in my journal is a meditative process, another form of prayer, and brings me a feeling of peace and fulfillment. 

This little cardinal painting illustrated one of my journal pages. The bird with his heart-shaped wings reminds me of the other bright spot that graces a grim February – the exchange of Valentines.  Do they still do that in elementary school? Fill out a Valentine for each of your classmates, and place it in the folder with their name? It’s a fond memory, your Mom taking you to the drugstore to buy a box of valentine cards, that anticipation when someone is opening your message to them, and to see their words to you scrawled in crayon. Later, I was used to receiving flowers with a little poem, and I thought I needed that, so the first year or two after my divorce, I sent myself flowers, and wrote a little poem to myself. I lost interest in this when I remembered that the real charm of Valentine’s day is telling others that they are loved.

  When my son was growing up, I sometimes used to make Valentines for him.  Silly hand made cards with hearts, but a message that went beyond “be my Valentine” – a love letter of sorts.  The sort of love letter that describes how special and wonderful you think the person is.  Everyone needs to hear that someone wishes them well, recognizes their beauty, values them, considers them love-able. What a great thing – a desire to make something beautiful – to let them know.

In this year of isolation and uncertainty, I have this simple Valentine to write upon my heart to my son, to my extended family, and to those people who are that most varied of loves: friends. This is my message to you.

Dear Valentine of mine:

I wish you warmth in the wintertime.

I hope you see a red bird on a grey day.

I wish you the joy that rises like the morning light.

I hope you find kindness – especially the compassion you can show yourself.

I hope you give yourself permission to do the things that you love.

I hope you decide what life you want to live, and be that.

I hope you forget about the limits you placed on yourself in the past.

I wish for you the simple faith of our childhood – not the judgmental religion we see in the media, but the certainty in our heart that we are cherished.

We are not alone.

There is hope.

And I’d like to think that you would get out your brightest crayons and write a message to me on your heart, too,