in a long-ago april the mister held my hands, shaking like leaves, and we promised a life together.
we were scarcely more than kids, too young and bright-eyed to know all the reasons it shouldn’t work. and i didn’t have the first clue about wifery or growing a passel of littles. but i knew his look was a river of tenderness, and his frame halved the weight of anything that threatened to pin me down. and so here we stand, fourteen years wiser (or at least later), still happily shoring up that vow.
i reckon you didn’t much know what you were in for, marrying me. but you found out right-quick, and to your eternal credit you didn’t bat an eye. i owe you one.
well, maybe two: for that year of manual labor while i finished school, every stone you cleaved dulling your spirit.
and, okay, three: for how you pull yourself from sleep each morning with the kiddos, in spite of your night-owlish preferences.
four: the way you long and pray and work for our family to be together. all on the same continent, under the same spackled ceilings.
five: how you trade in your dreams for God's, and with relish.
so alright. pretty much i owe you twelve billion. but mostly: thanks for doing life with me, for showing up every day and putting in the beautiful, grueling, sometimes monotonous hours of effort. for trusting God’s grace to fill in the cracks and canyons. for loving Him so full it spills down into loving the rest of us, even when we are one part mess, three parts miracle.