I'm about to go to bed, and there's the covers neatly arranged and turned down on one corner, welcoming me. And there on the night stand is the Valentine's Day card from yesterday. I love getting cards from my husband. He's never been much for words, but when he says it or when he writes it down, I can know confidently the truth of those words: "I do love you."

How do I know it? The covers are turned down. He gets ready for work then he makes the bed and turns the covers down before he leaves. That's my simple goodnight kiss from him. So after he's gone and the house is quiet and lonely, just me and a sleeping baby, I can crawl into a bed that says "I love you, from John."

I wish I could say "I love you" like that. I say it with words at least a dozen times every day, so much I think it loses its value. But I think I say it so much because I feel like it wells up inside me and I have to let it out and nothing I do can ever really say it well enough.

But maybe I underestimate the power of those little things. I think more can be said with simple, everyday things than with words. He makes the bed. I make dinner. He takes out the trash and I fold the laundry. He works hard all night. I budget every cent he earns. And we love each other. With every moment in our marriage, every simple, mundane act, and with more than just those three little words, we love each other.