We married almost seven years ago.
My true north. After Him, of course.
A man who challenges and forces me to move yet extends far more grace and love than I ever deserve.
The one that reverts to the scrappy young boy who “took nothin’ from nobody” if you mess with his family yet entirely peaceful and kind – unless you push too much.
The constant fixer of a broken garbage disposal.
Lover of snow, boyishly excited at the prospect of more than four inches. Wearer of Cardhart overalls while shoveling and dreaming of being on a farm.
Snow blower-orderer who is “concerned about his back” and needs a new snow-related toy.
Man who buys me a Diet Coke from McDonald’s if he’s out running errands. Who will stop if I’m in need of something “girly” and doesn’t bat an eye or carry my purse slung over his shoulder if I need extra hands.
Grace-giver. Lie-hater. Protector. Truck lover. Hunter.
Hiker of Machu Piccu, tracker of my heart.
The one who “makes it all better”, the first face I want to see when I’m blindsided by hurt. Or overwhelmed with joy.
Mario-Cart-playing Daddy to delightful squeals and contagious giggles. Horse that can carry three on his back (did I mention the back trouble?).
Passionate. Renassiance man interested in much: how to speak Latin, cigars, red wine, classical guitar, adventure/survival courses in wild open spaces.
God-lover. Jesus accepter. Bible teacher of our children.
Warrior of prayer.
Husband that cherishes a previously wounded bird, one that had already done this marriage thing once.
One who had also done this marriage thing once and was brave enough to try again. Thank you, God.
Man who loves me as I am right at this moment. Hearer of the ugly thoughts that are sometimes placed upon my heart.
Possessor of the arms that wrap around me when he knows that’s what I really need.
Ridiculous remember-er of movie lines and quips that are nonchalantly added at the most unsuspecting of moments:
“What we have here is failure to communicate.”
“I don’t think the heavy stuff is going to come down for quite some time now. I say we play through.”
“Why don’t you call the school nurse? She has, like, 30 of them in her top drawer?“
My husband. Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.
Happy Birthday, Love. I am honored to be a part of this life journey with you. Thank you for picking me despite the crown of ashes. I know it wasn’t you who who replaced it with a crown of beauty, the oil of gladness, and a garment of praise but He sure used you as an instrument in that transformation. (referencing Isaiah 61:3)
On this Multitude Monday, I’m so thankful for:
281. His hands
282. His laugh
283. His understanding of all things science and patience with me when my eyes cross after a certain point
284. His calm, cool, collectedness that balances out a high-feeler type of wife
285. His commitment to learning how to be a better father and husband
285. His love of God
286. His need for order
287. His protection
288. His shoulders
289. His cross tattoo on the left one obtained three days after we met
290. Just him.