Happy Valentine's Day to everyone. This is not only a special day for lovers, but also one for me and this blog. This is my 100th entry. Most of you are well past that and are probably not impressed. However, it is a milestone for me in my attempt to enhance my discipline in writing.
Most of the time on Valentine's day, we hear about romantic dinners, gifts, messages, bed and breakfast trips, etc. I play along. Today I am taking my wife out for a nice linner (meal between lunch and dinner), going to see a romantic comedy ("Music and Lyrics"). We have to do it this way because she has class tonight. I will also be giving her some gifts (three books - one being one of love poetry), a nice card, and a pair of diamond earrings. I am a sap like the rest of the folks who fall for the ingenious marketing ploy known as Valentines Day.
However, I would like to share something with you on this 100th blog entry that is a little more meaningful:
Robertson McQuilken was president of Columbia Bible College and Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina. His wife, Muriel, was not only a devoted wife and mother, but also a painter, speaker, hostess for the college, fabulous cook, and host of her own radio program. Then Muriel was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.
Initially, the college board arranged for care, but then McQuilken decided to take early retirement to care for his wife. In spite of her deterioration, McQuilken stood by her and continued to love her deeply. Eventually she rarely did more than mumble "nonwords." He wondered if he would ever hear her sweet voice again.
Then came February 14, 1995. McQuilken writes: Valentine's Day was always special at our house because that was the day in 1948 that Muriel accepted my marriage proposal. On the eve of Valentine's Day in 1995…I bathed Muriel on her bed, kissed her good night…and whispered a prayer over her, "Dear Jesus, you love sweet Muriel more than I, so please keep my beloved through the night; may she hear the angel choirs…"The next morning while Muriel slowly emerged from sleep, I dipped into memories of some the happy Lover's Days long gone. Finally she popped awake and, as she often did, smiled at me. Then, for the first time in months, she spoke, calling out to me in a voice clear as a crystal chime, "Love… love… love…" I ran to embrace her. "Honey, you really do love me, don't you?" Holding me with her eyes and patting my back, she responded with the only words she could find to express agreement. "I'm nice," she said.
Now go love somebody!