How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways ...

My mother thought in poetry. She had scads of papers--napkins, scraps, whatnot--where she'd furiously scribble lines when the muse touched her. Her creativity in that area amazed me, I think probably since my own tendency runs more towards the more mundane prose. My secret longing was to collaborate with my mother and publish her compositions; alas, it was not to be. I have them in a folder--the compromising of her cognitive abilities no longer allowing her to add to them--where they remain my special treasure, my mother's heart forever bared, forever contained in poetry. Maybe someday …

Until then, I will enjoy those poems that, despite my plebian inability to move in them and appreciate their finer aspects, nonetheless have the astonishing, inexplicable ability to move very-common me. Such as Elizabeth Barrett Browning's most famous poem, her Sonnet 43, "How Do I love Thee?"

It begins with words that bring to mind the words of Ephesians 3:17-19: "That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height, and to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God." Mrs. Browning's sonnet reads: "I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach …'' Can you see the similarity? No wonder that sonnet is so moving--it's a reflection of God's very words and God's Word is powerful!

But today I would like to zero in on lines 5 and 6, which read:

"I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight."

Somehow we get it in our heads that expressions of love must be grandiose to be significant. While there is a place for "great" expressions of love--a well planned marriage proposal, a bouquet of flowers, a gift that is not expected--we can't live a life always on the edge of nervous energy and with the expenditure of great sums of money or personal expression. It's just not sustainable or feasible.

The truth is that most days are ordinary. And it is the love expressed on ordinary days in ordinary ways that builds a strong fabric in marriage--or any relationship, be it with relatives, with friends, or with colleagues.

Didn't Solomon write in his Song of Solomon, it is "...the little foxes, that spoil the vines..."? Something marriage counselors are prone to say is that a marriage does not deteriorate simply because of one big event--it is, rather, undermined by the minutiae of countless "little" things that hurt--derisive words and looks, a constant tendency to question motives, etc., etc. Then, when a traumatic event makes its grand entrance into their lives, the foundation built on negatives can't do anything but crumble.

The significance of great events in our lives reminds me of the great men--and women--of God in the Bible, one of whom God specifically said, "...the Lord hath sought him a man after his own heart..." (I Samuel 13:14). The man after God's heart, the man who God chose to replace Saul, was none other than our Goliath David. But there was a lot more to David than just the Goliath story/confrontation. Yes, it's a wonderful story worthy of repeated teachings, a moving narrative that has much to offer. But is that powerful story the sum of what made David great? There was a lot more to David than just the Goliath story.

Psalm 78:70-71 says, "He (God) chose David... and took him from the sheepfolds; from following the ewes great with young..." The inference is that David took special care of the feeble (the pregnant) sheep, even taking their need for moving slowly into account.

Then there are the many psalms David wrote filled with praise for his God and expressive of a longing for Him.

The praise and the daily care of the sheep were not "glorious" in the sense that they were such a singular impressive happening that people were all agog by it. They were quiet, obscure activities that took place day after day, week after week, month after month. They were part of the "little" things that make up the fabric of a great life.

Which brings me to my gardenia. I bet you were wondering what in the world a gardenia plant had to do with Browning's Sonnet 43, right? It is simply this.

When we left Texas, we left a big chunk of our hearts there. One of those chunks was embodied in a large gardenia plant in our backyard and a beautiful smaller version some dear friends had gifted us. The newer gardenia had also been planted in the garden. Although smaller, we couldn't take it with us; it was acclimated to the searing heat of south Texas and would not have survived in the comparatively harsh winter conditions of Tennessee. So, though it broke our hearts to do it … we left both behind. Which is why I kept an eye out for a winter-hardy gardenia for our new home, one that would evoke those warm fuzzy memories of loved ones left behind.

Two days ago, our new gardenia started blooming. And as I bent to smell the blooms (fragrant, but not as potent as the plants left in south Texas), another memory overwhelmed me and brought tears to my eyes.

My mother loved orange blossoms. She said her father used to have to walk through an orange grove on his way home and he would enter the house with the smell of orange blossoms all around him. Her father died when she was eleven, and she has always treasured that smell as a reminder of the man she loved. Gardenias are not orange blossoms, but the smells are mighty similar.

Anyway, Dennis, knowing that mom loved orange blossoms, would cut gardenia blossoms for her and give them to me to take to her when he knew I was going to visit her. She always crowed over the simple offerings and placed them in a glass next to her bed. By then mom was not only housebound but also bedbound, and those little acts of thoughtfulness lit up her face and brightened her day.

I didn't tell Dennis to bless my mother this way. He just did it. And his act of kindness to her blessed me. My dear mother is no longer cognitively "here." She babbles incoherently, only once in a while saying something that makes sense. But I am forever grateful that while she was aware, my dear husband extended those "small" offerings that blessed the socks off of her.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways … ' I love thee to the extent of cutting and sending you some blossoms that will bring a smile to your face and day.

Dear God, show me what blossoms to cut for my friends and family. Let my life reflect thoughtfulness and Your tender love.

And to you, dear one, I ask, what blossoms have you cut today?

"...thy gentleness hath made me great." Psalm 18:35