On Valentine’s Day, a promise to remain faithful to God

Dear Heavenly Father: I was looking at Valentine's Day cards the other day and had this sinking sensation when I realized I won't be getting one for my husband this year.

I don’t have to tell you what emotional turmoil I’ve endured ever since that fuzzy fellow died. At first, though, I couldn’t admit that I was quite miffed at you, because I thought it was sinful.

Instead, I would murmur things like “Well, he lived until 55, which is longer than many people do” and “I’m so grateful we were together for 33 years of marriage.”

Which is all true, Father, please don’t get me wrong. It’s just that Valentine’s Day unlocks a floodgate of memories — and makes the yearning for him even stronger.

My sweetheart was a frugal guy, as you know — so when he got me roses, he usually bought them a few days before, rather than pay triple the price on the actual holiday.

But that just meant he could splurge on amazingly delectable, imported chocolates and special ingredients for a fine feast by the fireplace.

None of that will happen this year, which, frankly, does get me riled. Come on, Lord, couldn’t you have given us more time together? I mean, 55 — really? Oh, yes, I know about The Lord’s Prayer, which I say everyday, and that telling line “Thy will be done.”

But how often I wish your will had meshed with mine — which is presumptuous, I admit, because humans don’t see the big picture like you do.

I’m sorry about last night when my prayers opened sarcastically with: “Dear God, if you’re listening” — but, frankly, sometimes I feel like you’re not there.

Then I remind myself that you sometimes speak through other people — and that includes my late husband.

For example, I found an old email where he was writing about his sister, who had died after a painful battle with addictions.

“I believe, as firmly as I believe anything,” he said, “that we will see Lisa again; and then, truly we may be able to understand God’s hand in all of this, and be content.”

Heavenly Father, I promise you that my bouts of anger don’t mean I’ll walk out on you. After all, when Jef and I had disagreements, it never crossed our minds to call it quits.

Sure, there were times when I stormed dramatically out of the house, but all I did was drive to the mall and then hurry back home so we could talk things through.

I’ll miss him terribly on Valentine’s Day, but I trust we’ll meet again one day in heaven, where we can savor a show-stoppingly splendid celebration.

I envision frilly, heart-shaped cards falling like flower petals from the sky, mountains of alluring chocolates and rivers of hot fudge.