to my husband at thirty,
at twenty you decided to love me, and let you heart be filled with someone young and someone somewhat shy and someone who needed to learn how to love.
to really, actually love.
we both needed to learn it, our young hearts knowing better how to love selfishly then to give. we loved because it was easy and because we thought we somehow fulfilled each other. we loved because we were happy together and because we really actually didn’t need to know how to love any different way. yet.
at twenty one you started shopping for something to put on my hand to show me that this imperfect love was what you wanted forever. i knew you loved me better than i loved you. i could feel it in your confidence. your love was growing and the gut feeling that this love you had wouldn’t change because God was in it grew too and you were fighting for me.
i didn’t know God like that yet. i didn’t know myself like that yet.
by twenty two you had disappeared. you were hidden in yourself, in that secret place that i’ll never be invited into, the secret of your coma. that place that kept you from talking to me but didn’t keep you from loving me.
“his heart rate goes highest when you talk to him”
“he looks at you differently”
“he follows you with his eyes”
by twenty five your voice came back and your love fought hard enough to believe that God would allow you to be the husband you needed to be. and so you asked me.
and now at thirty, my dear lovey at thirty, you still love me better and fight harder than i do for you.
you always want to be with me.
you just want to be with me.
you don’t put expectations on me. you don’t put requirements on me. you don’t care if your party on saturday won’t be decorated because it took all my brains to get thirty people in from out of town. you don’t care that the floors are a mess or that i haven’t scrubbed the shower in a month or that our dirty laundry is stll on our bedroom floor.
you love me like this. in my imperfection. in the inconveniences i cause you. in the harsh words i say and the lunches i forget to prepare for you and the light bulbs that have been burnt out for months but i’m too lazy to change them. in my body that doesn’t feel like it used to and when i wonder out loud what it used to look like you say “always have and will be hot.”
you just enjoy me. in the way i’m made.
and in that, you show me how God loves me. through you, God reminds me that He enjoys and delights in me exactly as He created me to be.
no expectations. no works.
thank you, lovey, for living this out for me. i want your heart of love.
here’s to thirty.
love you always