I was walking up my driveway yesterday, just coming back
from a leisurely walk with my dog, Snickers.
We had walked the long way around as I was feeling guilty about going to
work for the rest of the day and she would be inside alone for awhile.
As I
got close to the front yard, catching my eye was a small round piece of white
paper sticking up out of the grass. It was weathered and worn from being
outside in the recent rain and wind. There was a pre-existing hole in the
top like it was meant to be attached to something by a string or ribbon
perhaps.
I
started to walk on by, thinking it wasn’t worth my time and energy to stoop
down to pick it up and put it in the trash can.
My justification for my momentary laziness told me it was a meaningless
lightweight piece of paper and it would most likely blow away again, to another
yard or into the ditch perhaps.
Almost
past it, I looked to my left one last time and noticed writing on it. An involuntarily force took over, I turned
and walked across the front lawn and bent down to pick it up. It was made of sturdy weight paper and was sitting
between two blades of winter brown grass, perfectly upright. My eyes quickly scanned the endearing words, “I Love You Holly. Jason.”
The
words hit me, taking my breath for a second and I felt guilty that I almost
passed it by. Holding it in my hand felt
as if I were holding Jason’s heart; filled with his deepest emotion of love. It felt disrespectful to throw it
back down, yet having it in my possession felt intrusive to their intimacy. I
stood for a few moments and reread the words.
It wasn’t a gift tag with the typical “To and From” lines to fill in,
where he would just sign “Love, Jason.”
There was something about the words being uncentered on the round space and the imperfect penmanship that made it
feel more perfect in meaning because he had written, “I love you Holly.” With one small change of wording, he had personalized this simple inscription giving her his truest testament of love and commitment. It wasn’t just that he had love for her – he loved her. Just as she was. I felt his complete acceptance of her, and more so, I could feel his respect and gratitude that she had chosen to be in his life and he loved her for that alone.
Who are Jason and Holly? And what should I do with this tag? It felt sacred. Are they a young couple, perhaps newlyweds
who enjoyed their first Christmas together?
What was the gift that Jason had attached this tag to? It must have been something she really
wanted, or something he really wanted to give her.
Or are they a more seasoned couple who are
celebrating a milestone anniversary? Are
they both still alive or has one of them left the other now to finish out their
life alone? Why did it end up on my
lawn? Why was it standing so perfectly
upright to catch my eye? The tag itself
was worn and weathered but the ink was well intact. Words aren't meaningless and they aren't lightweight; they are powerful when written down so as to relive their
meanings for years, carrying it into a heart over and over again, for as long as the mind is able to remember.
I may
never know who Holly and Jason are, or were. What matters is that for a period of time, someone
deeply loved someone.
I still have the tag.
