Valentine’s Day has always been kind of a weird day for me. Maybe it’s the commercialization of the public declaration of exactly who loves you and how much that scares and intimidates the heck out of me. And what kind of love are we talking about here? Romantic, familial, friendly, neighborly, brotherly? Where do you draw the lines? It’s too much pressure. It’s all too much.

Undoubtedly, the promise of Valentine’s Day is fun and exciting. When I was in elementary school, in early February each of us would cover a shoe box with construction paper, decorate it with hearts, name across the top, and make a slot in the lid for secret valentine deposits. Unlike today, there was no mandatory protocol requiring us to bring a valentine for every other person in the class. Also, we could deliver valentines to students’ boxes in other classrooms. When the big day finally arrived, I distinctly remember feeling the stress as the boxes were emptied and the piles of envelopes were exposed. The comparing of the piles was sobering, and the opening of each little envelope to see who liked you and who didn’t was excruciating.  A self-analysis was set in motion that spiraled into speculation, critique, anxiety, and doubt that lasted not just for that day but for a while. Why didn’t I get a card from her? I thought we were friends. Why didn’t the boy I like send me a valentine? Did he send one to anyone else? Why did I get such a generic card from one of my best friends? Why did I only get 17 valentines when she got 36?

[It is not lost on me that the intimidating experience of that one-day-a-year, Valentine’s Day, shares the same insidious promise and unexpected delivery that we now subject ourselves to and that our kids stare down on a daily basis on social media; Instagram even tallies each “like” with the tap of a heart.]

When my children were young and growing, I wasn’t sure how big their piles were at school, but in some form or fashion, I knew they were counting their “likes.” And, I was determined that when they got home, by George, what they would find there would be beyond measure. Despite my love/hate relationship with Valentine’s Day, I decided to take a cue from the little cherub archer with wings and focus on the bulls-eye of my affection: my husband and kids. While “love” has become a word to blanket how we feel about everything from our spouses to a pair of shoes, one of my mantras has been that love is not just a feeling - but an action. (If you have never read Love Does by Bob Goff, I highly recommend it.)

So, I needed to put my personal angst aside and do something positive with the day.

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Something simple – not commercial – not expensive. Something special. The easy choice, whether Feb. 14th fell on a Tuesday or a Saturday, was dinner together, but it needed to be different, somehow. I don’t know about you, but my dining room doesn’t have any of the romantic features you see in the commercials – no raging fire – no sunset ocean or snow-capped mountain views. But, I do have a gas fireplace in the family room and a picture window that looks out on some trees! And, with a little help from Cupid, The Magic Table can fly. Of course, it can. So, one Valentine’s Day, many years ago, this was my Cupid Is as Cupid Does idea:

#1: I dug an old, dusty, paint-splattered card table out of the basement, covered it with a white sheet and some butcher paper, and set it in front of the fireplace in the family room - which meant moving the furniture to the periphery of the room and taking up the rug, just in case of any spills;

#2: sprinkled candy conversation hearts (or jelly beans or any small candies) like confetti all over the table-top and anchored a simple helium-filled, heart-shaped balloon in the center - enough to lift the spirit of the day;

#3: turned off all overhead lights, leaving only a couple of lamps and fire light for instant ambiance;

#4: nuked something easily transportable and unquestionably easy and delicious like Marie Callender’s Pot Pies, made Sprite look special by adding lemon slices and raspberries; and as always, enlisted the dogs for clean-up duty;

#5: set the table for 4, placed a small gift and a card on each seat, and called it Valentine’s Day.

I was taken aback by how much my family enjoyed this night. The excitement of the table in an unexpected place and dinner in front of the fire rivaled Christmas morning. We saw shapes in the flames, played tic-tac-toe and doodled on the paper, ate the table decorations, and promised to do this again - every year. (This year will be #22.)

So, from that day forward, I was committed to our new intimate family tradition, but it wasn’t until a couple of years later that my view on the day began to change. I can’t remember her exact age, but she was still quite young, when my daughter Brooke declared that Valentine’s Day was her favorite holiday.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because, Mommy, I just love love.”

How funny and cute, I thought. And, then, What about me? What are my thoughts about love itself, not just whether it is a feeling or an action?  

I believe in love. I believe it is the most powerful force for good in the world. I believe we were created from it and for it. I believe that the very character of God is love.

But, do I love love?

My favorite quote comes from The Dead Poet Society and is spoken by the wise English teacher Mr. Keating to his students: “Medicine, law, business, engineering -these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life; but poetry, beauty, romance, love - these are what we stay alive for.”

Yes, I love love. I think we all do.

And, that is definitely worth celebrating.

Happy Valentine’s Day!