He's rocked my world for 18 years. Not once have I laid eyes upon someone I'd rather be married to. Though the sight of him gearing up for it makes me slightly heartsick, he devotedly plays me Goodnight Ladies! most nights right before bed. The perversion - the perversion! - of this man sometimes feels like more than I can bear. But o how I love him.
He is hilarious in a way that I find hard to describe. It's one of his top five defining characteristics. I laugh myself sick every day. I read about - with gratefulness - how people who laugh are healthier for it and I'm thankful for the Boy. He delights in shocking me and though you'd think that I'd get over the shock thing already, I'm truly stunned each day by the controversial things eagerly, nay delightedly, spewing forth from his mouth.
He's a leader in the true sense. What I mean by this is that he could care less who follows. He doesn't require the followers in order to feel adequate. He's his own man in a way that I've never yet encountered. His belief in himself could stoke the furnaces of an entire country for a year or two. This man could fly rockets if he wanted to. This man could rule the Earth (and effectively, I might add). But, alas! He cannot fix the broken handle for our front door. He cannot remember to take the garbage out without loving (never irritated) wifely reminders. Pah! These jobs are too boring, too plebian. This man wants action! This man wants color! He wants loud music! He wants expensive guitars and classic motorcycles. And he wants good food. And, if you don't mind, he'd like it all immediately.
No one has ever been nicer to me than he. I regularly feel humbled by his doting love. His love inspires me to make my own love better, less expectant, less exacting. He wants to be with me all the time. He derives pleasure from making me feel blessed. He teases me gently when I'm controlling. He reads to me in the evenings and massages me the whole while. As I sit and reflect, I don't understand why God would give this man to me as my life's best friend. To say that I don't deserve him, while undoubtedly nauseating, is no mere display of false modesty. He brings home unexpected gifts on a regular basis. Sometimes it's books from my favorite thrift store, sometimes it's a fabulous new Nikon camera that he's secretly consulted my photographer friend about, unbeknownst to me. Sometimes it's a frozen lasagna from the store, intended to lighten my load. Always, it's an offering of love.
He's so quick to wholely offer himself to me. There's not a whiff of threatened with him. He doesn't need to know it'll be reciprocated in order to give me everything. For him, that isn't the point. As I watch him, I feel inside myself that I want to be a better person.
He is hilarious in a way that I find hard to describe. It's one of his top five defining characteristics. I laugh myself sick every day. I read about - with gratefulness - how people who laugh are healthier for it and I'm thankful for the Boy. He delights in shocking me and though you'd think that I'd get over the shock thing already, I'm truly stunned each day by the controversial things eagerly, nay delightedly, spewing forth from his mouth.
He's a leader in the true sense. What I mean by this is that he could care less who follows. He doesn't require the followers in order to feel adequate. He's his own man in a way that I've never yet encountered. His belief in himself could stoke the furnaces of an entire country for a year or two. This man could fly rockets if he wanted to. This man could rule the Earth (and effectively, I might add). But, alas! He cannot fix the broken handle for our front door. He cannot remember to take the garbage out without loving (never irritated) wifely reminders. Pah! These jobs are too boring, too plebian. This man wants action! This man wants color! He wants loud music! He wants expensive guitars and classic motorcycles. And he wants good food. And, if you don't mind, he'd like it all immediately.
No one has ever been nicer to me than he. I regularly feel humbled by his doting love. His love inspires me to make my own love better, less expectant, less exacting. He wants to be with me all the time. He derives pleasure from making me feel blessed. He teases me gently when I'm controlling. He reads to me in the evenings and massages me the whole while. As I sit and reflect, I don't understand why God would give this man to me as my life's best friend. To say that I don't deserve him, while undoubtedly nauseating, is no mere display of false modesty. He brings home unexpected gifts on a regular basis. Sometimes it's books from my favorite thrift store, sometimes it's a fabulous new Nikon camera that he's secretly consulted my photographer friend about, unbeknownst to me. Sometimes it's a frozen lasagna from the store, intended to lighten my load. Always, it's an offering of love.
He's so quick to wholely offer himself to me. There's not a whiff of threatened with him. He doesn't need to know it'll be reciprocated in order to give me everything. For him, that isn't the point. As I watch him, I feel inside myself that I want to be a better person.
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