Recently, my husband and I had an argument where we both caused each other pain. Around this same time, I sent out 40 invitations to women whom I had cared about at our former church. These women were invited to my home for Valentine's Day 2013, for a LOVE FEST. Each woman was invited to come ready to share something about love for two to three minutes. It could be a poem, a song, a dream, a photo or a memory.
My husband and I had some degree of difficulty in reconnecting after our cruel actions. One night in the car, I said to him..."I've just invited all these wonderful women to our home to share a love story. And I don't have any story of love to share with them. By any chance, do you have a 'love story' that I can share?" "As a matter of fact", he responded, "I do". "Last night, I dreamt of you. You were dying. Your heart was dying. You were on a list to get a new heart, but if one wasn't found soon, very soon...you would die. I decided to do something right with my life. I decided to give you my heart. I went to our three daughters and told them of my decision. They went berserk. I told them that without a new heart, you were going to die. Our oldest daughter yelled at me, asking how I could even think of doing that. That it was crazy. I said to our first born...Your mother has more love for you three girls and for our grandchildren and for everyone in the whole world than I will ever have for anyone in my whole life. She deserves to live. She deserves to go on loving."
My husband concluded his dream to me in the car. "In my dream...I give you my heart. And I died."
With tears in my eyes, I responded, "I can't share that with all those women. I will cry". To which he said, "No, you have to. It's a love story and it has to be told."