Yesterday I noticed a humorous Facebook post from a friend. It said: "What Valentine's Day looks like after 46 years of marriage — my mom made a heart-shaped meatloaf covered with ketchup for lunch (or 'dinner' as they say on the farm in Iowa). Nice, if you like meatloaf (which my dad does)."

I recently heard of another couple who had been married for nearly five decades. "I feel loved by my wife," the man said, "because she brings me a cup of coffee every morning."

Wow. As a newlywed, I often think in terms of the big gestures when it comes to loving my husband — things like affirming conversations and celebrations. I don't always think about the small things that might make him feel cared for. I know for me, I feel loved when Kevin lets me park my car in our driveway (while he parks in a spot on the other side of our townhome complex). I feel cared for when he sends me an "I love you" text message during his morning break. And I even feel loved when he brings home my favorite latte. (He works at a coffee shop.)

Two weekends ago, I had to wake up hours before church on a Sunday morning to finish a freelance project. Though Kevin could have kept sleeping, he stumbled downstairs a few minutes later and made me pancakes. That is love.

What are the little things that you and your spouse do for each other? How do these "love habits" build your relationship?

My baby daughter awoke and began crying, so I walked in to her room to see how I could help.

After checking her diaper and giving her a bit of bottle, I set her back in her crib. She was still whimpering a bit, so I began to sing gently over her. As I stroked her head and sang of Christ's love for her, and her parents' love for her, she quieted and drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

As I sang over her.

Walking back to my room I found myself stunned at this revelation: Just as her papa sang peace over her, so my Papa sings peace over me. Never in my 37 years as a single guy had this truth been so vividly revealed. Never before had I gotten such a vision of the fatherly love God has for me.

The Lord has many blessings for those in their single years. But some He reserves for the married-with-children years.

This past weekend, I didn't get much of my to-do list finished. I went into the weekend with lofty aspirations, but crashed and burned in my attempts to get even half of my list completed.

I did spend a lot of time with my husband, however. We prepared for teaching Sunday School. We had Sunday lunch with a friend. We sat in front of the fire. We cuddled. We talked about the future.

By Sunday evening I was frustrated. My husband picked up on my dismay. I explained to him my lofty goals for the weekend and that I was disappointed in myself for not accomplishing them. "I'll help you get them done tomorrow," he soothed. "Thanks for spending time with me."

Today I read a post on the Girl Talk blog called To-Do List of One. It was convicting:

Do you have your own “Martha Moments?” Do you find it hard to sit? Do you find it difficult to listen? God knew Martha was anxious and troubled. He knows when we are anxious and troubled. He lovingly spoke to Martha; and through her story He lovingly speaks to us today: “Only one thing is necessary.”

First, I wonder if God sometimes feels like my husband did this weekend. "God, I would love to spend time with You, just enjoying your presence, but I'm so worried about everything I have to do!" Second, if this is the model of a good relationship -- to sit and listen -- how valuable is a weekend where I connect in conversation and intimacy with my husband and leave tasks undone?

I apologized to Kevin for being grumpy, and, as promised, he helped me accomplish much of my list on Monday. But the downtime I'd spent with him left an impression. He texted Monday morning and said: "I had a great weekend! Thank you."

Sitting and listening is a good technique for both devotions and marriage. Kevin and I ended up having a Mary weekend, which was just what we needed.

When Brian and I were dating I don't think we wrote each other a single "love letter." But since we've been married it's something really we've grown into.

I say it's something we've "grown into" meaning we aren't pros at this love letter thing. Like most things in our new marriage we're getting better with practice. Sometimes my letters are simply expressing my support as Brian goes into a challenging week, letting him know that I'm on his side. Sometimes Brian's letters are just acknowledging the mundane ways I serve him like packing his lunch and keeping up with our laundry.

Other times our letters are a little more like something out of the Song of Songs. On the morning of our two-month anniversary I opened my Bible and found a lengthy letter from Brian affirming his committed and covenantal love for me. I sobbed for half an hour and ended up being late to work. Not all of Brian's letters bring me to tears, but they do reorient me toward passionate, committed love for my husband.

I know a couple that every time I go to their house there's a collection of post-it notes on the cabinet above their coffee pot. One time when I was making coffee at their place, I started to read one. It began "Dear Lover ..." and being quick on the uptake I knew it was a love note and promptly stopped reading. After countless visits to their kitchen, I've still never read one of those post-its but I'm always encouraged that even in the busiest season of family life this couple intentionally cultivates romance.

Writing love letters has deepened our affection and appreciation for one another in ways I wouldn't have expected. And whether I'm getting a letter from Brian or he's giving me one, it serves as a reminder of the gift that I have in my spouse and in the ministry of marriage.

I've always known there is a right way to put a new roll of toilet paper on the holder. The paper should dispense over the top. It was nice to learn, after our wedding, that Steve was of the same conviction. Most of the time. Occasionally he would err and put the roll on backwards, or upside down. But I was full of grace. Instead of getting peeved, I just took it off and re-installed it the right way.

Things went on happily in the TP department until the ninth year of our marriage. It was then that we bought a home that resisted my ideas about what was right. In this home, the hardware that holds the paper has short arms. Consequently, if you put the TP on the right way, it's so tight against the wall it won't roll. It's like this with all rolls: the jumbo, overstuffed and quilted rolls and even the cheap, skimpy ones. I still don't understand the engineering of it all, but for some reason, if you put it on the wrong way, it rolls nearly effortlessly.

Now right is wrong.

Sort of reminds me of something my Dad used to say to me when I was a kid. I'd be in the midst of explaining my side of an argument with one or another of my siblings, fully convinced of the justness of my cause and perspective. And right in the middle of my defense, he'd stop me and say, "Candi, you can be so right, you're wrong." He wouldn't even let me finish. I'd get so frustrated when he'd say that. Looking back I think it's because I didn't really understand what he meant.

All these years later, I'm starting to figure it out; thanks in part to our short-armed toilet paper holders. When I put a new roll on, I think about how convinced I was that my way was right. Best. Obvious. And now I'm caught because the old right way is wrong and wrong is right. Mostly Steve puts the roll on wrong, er, right. But every now and then, he doesn't.

Twelve years into marriage, I'm ashamed to admit the grace isn't automatic. It's not just TP but everything from how we load the dishwasher and bathe the kids to how we make the bed and fold the newspaper. Life with another is full of opportunities to stand up for your rights or follow Christ's example and lay it all down for the sake of your beloved.