I love a good mystery. On the commute, the mysteries range from solving the puzzle concerning which route will be less entangled with trouble or which will embrace my time budget while also offering me the scenery I crave. And even with the scenery, there are sometimes mysteries.

Is there something dark and formidable making its way through the nearby woods? What is the figure off in the distant field — coyote, fox, horse, cow? Did I really see four different hawks in one morning, or is there only one who is following my movement — just as curious about me as I am of him?

Mysteries surround us. We wonder about the hows, the whys, the whats, and the whens. We wonder about life and of love. It is this latter that has captured my heart lately. Love can be mysterious, yes?

When I was a child, we would take decorated shoeboxes to school to serve as receptacles for cute little valentines. Some would be signed with names I knew, a few would be signed by a “secret admirer,” and some would not be signed at all. Regardless of who signed them, all Valentines were given in the name of “like” and some with “love.”

Our capacity to love is great — and when we give our heart to another the feeling is like no other. Our love is either reciprocated and our hearts brim over with joy or our love is tossed aside and our hearts are crushed. Yes, love is a powerful thing. In the pages of its story are hidden secrets — the revealing of those hows, whys, whats, and whens. Perhaps sometimes ours is not to question why, but rather to have faith and believe that those hidden secrets matter not. We love. And nothing else matters.

Several years ago, I began a new life journey. The abrupt change in what I thought was a permanent road of travel set to fire a chain of events and reactions. I prayed for my Higher Power to take the wheel. And I sat in the back seat and began to slowly take in the scenery: the hawk in flight, the deer in the meadow, and the fox in the woods.

And in the quiet of my healing, my prayer was answered. My destination was found. The mystery of love solved? Maybe not. But most importantly, I have gained a deeper appreciation for the mystery of love and for the celebration of Valentine’s Day.

Amy Randall-McSorley wrote this column to be published in The Logan Daily News. The views of this column may not necessarily reflect that of the newspaper.

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