My Husband is a full time Evangelist and the Eastern Regional Training Specialist for Christian Prisoner Fellowship, UPCI.
We live in Southaven, MS.
Southern Gospel Singing
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Time With Jesus Ministries
February 2004
"The Season of Love"
February is the month that has often been labeled the month of love. We buy beautiful cards to give our loved ones. It is a time for candlelight dinners and heart shaped boxes filled with chocolate. Romances often blossom during this time of the year. It is a popular season for weddings.
Those in my age bracket often remember the early days of romance. I well remember one particular incident that happened some forty years ago when my husband and I were dating.
The year was 1963 and my fiancée', Richard Motes, was home on leave from the United States Navy. A deep snow was on the ground, and being giddy with love for each other, we decided to build a snowman. We worked tirelessly, laughing and occasionally throwing a snowball at each other. The weather was cold on this winter day, but we did not notice - we were in love. We finally completed the snowman and stood back to admire our work. We were rather pleased even though he did not have a mouth due to lack of buttons.
Still bubbling with youthful energy and not ready to go inside we decided to go for a walk. We walked a few blocks and made a circle back to where Mr. Snowman sat with his large button eyes and no mouth. We stood on the sidewalk holding hands and laughing at our piteous creation.
Since there was not a lot to do on this frigid day, we finally decided to go inside. My fiancée' - always the daring one - suggested we go up the hill in front of the apartment I shared with my sister. I suggested - always the careful one - that we should go up the freshly shoveled sidewalk. Although, it was the long way around, I felt it would be the safest route to take.
"Oh come on," said my sweetheart. "You can do it!"
"I'd prefer the sidewalk," I told him.
"Go on," he persuaded as he gave me a slight push.
Not wanting to look insecure, I attempted to go up the rather steep, icy hill. I did not take very many steps up until I tumbled down - down - down. It was a very ungraceful fall and my pride was injured more than anything else.
Feeling somewhat coerced into the whole ordeal; my temper began to flare. My future husband, being the gentleman that he is, helped me up with a smile on his face. Somehow, I failed to see the humor as I dusted myself off.
I am sure he sensed he was in some pretty hot water as we quietly walked to the front door on the shoveled sidewalk. I felt a little pleasure in walking on the sidewalk that I had suggested in the beginning. As I seethed inside, the love of my life gently took my hand and said, "I'm sorry - will you forgive me?"
What could I say? My anger faded away and we both began to laugh over the ridiculous episode. Five months later I said, "I do" to the daring sailor. We will soon celebrate forty years of marriage. Since that time, we have had to say those words, "I'm sorry - will you forgive me?" many times. Those words are as important as, "I love you."
"Charity (love) suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up" (I Corinthians 13:4).
Elizabeth Motes
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