Valerie and I went to high school together, although I didn't know her then. She married the love of her life midway through her senior year and graduated early, right about the time this awkward freshman had finally figured out how to navigate the radiator-heated hallways of Pepperell High School.
The first time I met Valerie and her husband, Gordon, I sized them up to be world-class actors. Nobody, not even in the most humble Baptist church, is that kind, that selfless, that soft-spoken, that wise, but this is no act. Over the past 20 years that I've known them, the Martins have proven to be all those things rolled into one couple.
They say they're a normal couple with the normal struggles and squabbles the rest of us have, but I'm not sure I believe it. Although I know it's pretty much impossible for her to lie, if Valerie has ever told a fib, this would have to be the one. I can't imagine them ever having a cross word with each other, much less anyone else. After nearly 40 years of marriage, she and Gordon are clearly devoted to one another, respectful of one another and supportive of one another–committed and in love.
They have lived simply and honestly, homeschooling their two brilliant kids, who have grown into hall-of-fame adults. They never lived beyond their means, invested wisely, survived lean years and trusted God every step of the way. For a long time, Valerie was our church pianist. She also counseled female jail inmates. Gordon served as a deacon and leader, and the two of them ran their own business. The Martins may be the best example I know of living out the verse from the sixth chapter of Matthew: "Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things will be added to you."
God has certainly used them to add to my life. When my family was trying to move out of one house and into another, it was Valerie who volunteered to lead the charge in cleaning the new house to get it ready for our arrival. It was spotless when she was done. When my son and wife both had surgery the same week a few years back, it was Valerie and Gordon who were among those who blew our leaves and mowed our grass so I could focus on my family. When I needed help with Thanksgiving that same year, Valerie's casseroles were among those that stocked my refrigerator and filled my table that November.
So, when I mentioned we were going with a cabin theme this Christmas, I was not surprised to find a rustic, craft paper bag tied with jute in my chair a couple of weeks ago. Inside were the 10 jute stars, crocheted by Valerie, just for us.
It probably took me 40 minutes to place those stars on our tree. They are treasures and deserve a place of prominence. My wife stood back and admired them.
"That's it. That was what was missing," she said.
When I took the picture accompanying this post, my eyes welled with tears. That single frame holds so much of what is important to me at Christmastime:
Simple red ribbon representing the gift of unmerited love, and clear, white lights that recall the holy night that Jesus, the Light of the World, was born.
Evergreen branches that remind me that Christ is the shoot from Jesse's stump, a welcome lesson that God takes that which is cut down and brings forth new life.
A nostalgic "Merry Christmas" that speaks to the passage of time and whispering that these moments with my wife, our kids and our friends are to be cherished.
And, Valerie's star, a treasured, handmade gift from someone whose life shines like the Star of Bethlehem, pointing others to Emmanuel, God with us.
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