One of the many reasons I’m glad I’m a proper adult now is that I no longer care about Valentines Day.

I’m sure St Valentine was a lovely guy and I look forward to meeting Him in the next life, handing him an ugly stuffed bear and asking what’s the deal with sewing stuff into their hands. I’m sure he’ll be as confused as me.

But I am so glad I’ve left the competition of school days behind, when you could order such bears, roses and other frippery so that Year Elevens, always keen to get out of class, would interrupt every other class to deliver these tokens of lustful adolescent affection to the “lucky” ones, winners in the competition of love.

Yah. The competition of love.

That’s what was really wrong with the whole thing.

I don’t have an actual problem with people shouting their love from the rooftops (but I would like to point out that rooftops are pretty exposed and other disappointed lovers may be tempted to take aim!), you’re in love, that’s exciting, whatever whatever, so sure, celebrate. But did you know you don’t have to celebrate in front of other people for it to count?

You don’t have to grope your spouse during a church service for me to know you love them.

You don’t have to propose in public, on a beach, with hidden friends who’ve helped you create the sand sculpture whale with the ring in its blowhole.

Sometimes the way you demonstrate and celebrate your love can be in the way you mean to go on – loving when nobody’s watching, when you won’t get thanks for it, or applause at church, or a card with a poem written by some dude at Hallmark.

A rose on a day when everyone gets a rose on any other day would probably smell a lot sweeter. And does your lady or fella actually like roses? Maybe he’d prefer dahlias. Or gerberas. Or “that fluffy one you got from the markets that time. I liked that one.”

And sometimes, if the person you love ‘forgets’ to mark Valentines day with you, it’s not a sign of their inferiority in comparison to that woman at work who always gets a massive bunch of flowers. It might be a sign you’ve found an absent minded professor, an acts-of-service guy or just another one who dislikes the commercialism of love.

And sometimes, if you’re single, and you’ve never ever had any gift given to you on V-day, so it’s become you’re own personal D-day and you plan your year around and toward trying not to be “alone” on Valentines, you might need to go outside, to your garden, or your neighbours garden, or a park, and look at the flowers your Father has put there for you.

Notice their colour, detail and vibrancy. The delicacy of the veins in the leaves, the variety of colours, the soft, spiky, spongey or crinkly texture.

He gave you flowers.

He gave you FLOWERS!!

He didn’t have to. He could’ve built a beige world, with assembly line, plastic monotony.

But He didn’t.

He made the flowers.

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