A Love Note

A little girl ran up to me and crushed a paper into my hand. "Read it," she begged, covering her eyes. "It's so inappropriate!"

I unfolded the looseleaf.

I was holding a real live love note. A billet doux. Blue ink scrawled across the top half of the page, boldly unveiling the raw depths of a beautiful heart.

Its enormity was not lost on me. It was breathtakingly sweet.

"How is this inappropriate?" I asked gently.

"I'm way too young for falling in loooove," she moaned, "and he is TWO GRADES ahead of me! And - just - ew!"

I offered to deliver her definite no in person, which gave her unsettled feelings relief.

He took it well, and, understanding that a coerced consent is no consent at all, did not bother her again.

As for me, it's one of the loveliest things I've ever read. It echoes in my heart often, and I repeat it to Patrick and the kids whenever my heart overflows.

Tonight, I learned that the writer of the note died today as the result of a car crash. He leaves behind a young wife and two small children. He leaves behind siblings and parents and family and friends whose hearts are flooded with grief and longing and loss.

And he leaves behind this beautiful line -

 

Your face is the sunshine to me.

I think he might also take it with him, and speak it aloud when He sees the son of God. 

Your face is the sunshine to me.

May your hearts be full, and may your lips be bold to speak the words you've been given, on earth and in heaven. 

Merry Christmas, my friends.

Xo.