Afterward we drove into the White Mountains; passed the Old Man of the Mountain, a stone face carved by God himself; and honeymooned at a resort that apparently just lost power. We didn’t understand why they asked if we wanted a candle. Later the power returned and I even made you watch a Sherlock Holmes movie at one point; movies have always been part of our story. I’m glad we chose October, a perfect month to celebrate anniversaries.
Family took us back to Arkansas and school brought us to Georgia, where we grew roots. We’ve lived here longer than anywhere else. I remember when we only owned one car and you took me to school in the morning and I picked you up from work in the evening, after midnight, with a sleeping toddler in his carseat. We were so broke we ate instant pancakes most nights and saved all the milk for Jacob, our oldest and only child at the time. We struggled as strangers in a strange land barely seeing each other, schedules arranged so that one of us would always be available to take care of our son, but with little time together.
We’ve lived some lean, hard times interspersed with grace notes of abundance, but our years have been fruitful and God has blessed us with eight children to show for them. Our faith has been tested, sometimes hope hard to hold, and we can testify that parenthood is certainly not for cowards. Oh, my word, no.
Your constant faith gives wings to my dreams. No matter how crazy I sound, I always know you’ve got my back. You’re my support and enabler (in the best possible way). I’ve done things I never would have attempted simply because you believe I can do anything.
I thought I knew what I was doing and where I was going all those years ago with an Ivy League acceptance letter in hand and a head full of dreams. I revised those dreams—willingly—for you, but it took time to realize you are their fulfillment. I didn’t stumble upon you like a lucky penny: you are a gift divine. You were always a gift.
It’s true I never meant to fall for you, back when you were barely more than a boy and I was barely more than a girl. You caught my eye and then you caught me. I’m glad we’ve grown up (sort of) and will grow old (eventually) together. I still choose you.
Always yours,
Dawn
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “How Do I Love Thee?” (Sonnet 43)
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This post originally appeared at My Home Sweet Home.
