To let praise, to God and to my ladies, be ever on my lips.
To try new things so that I will never stagnate.
To give my wife every opportunity to shine: in her home, in front of her daughters, in front of her friends, in front of her parents.
To buy her that expensive chair, and then sit with her in quiet, reading praying, and dreaming.
To defer whatever power I might think I have to God, and to my wife.
To not fuss over things that don’t matter. Like where we eat after church, or what should hang on the wall, or what movie to watch.
To live as a shield for my wife and pixies—to take on pain, so they won’t have to.
To let my wife know I live, laugh, and sleep with the real Wonder Woman.
To empower my wife’s gifts with my own.
To let her see me cry.
To kiss her just because.
To kiss her again, just because.
To be honest, to seek truth, but always with a spirit of love and encouragement.
To have the French Press hot when she walks down the stairs.
To let her know how much I learn from her.
To rub her arm in church.
To confess to her during communion.
To speak to her with a heavenly tone, and with words that make the angels cry with jealousy.
To be a warrior-poet for my girls—by setting standards, not just rules, by warding off culture’s constant voice with the sword of my imagination, and by winning the fight for their hearts with a holiness I seek like silver.
To YAWP for my wife; in triumph, in pain, in ecstasy, so we never forget the ferocity of life, and the God who makes it so.
To die. To my self. To my passions. To my lust. Over and over. As many times as it takes. I will always be fighting for my wife.