a love story
As forty is fast approaching, as well as our 18th wedding anniversary, I realized today I have known this man, Stephen Smith, half of my life and have been married to him almost as long. We have grown up together, regressed together, grown up some more, regressed some more... Tonight as we watched the movie Miss Potter together, he instinctively knows which parts will make me laugh, which will make me cry... things unscripted that way probably and he watches me as much as the movie, anticipating how I will react. I used to find this annoying, now I find it endearing.
I am so lucky, so so blessed to have him in my life. My Aunt Dee was married many years to her own Steve, Dr. Brestin, and we often talk about their similarities. Gentle spirits, giant hearts, big loud laughs. Both with a loyalty, and an enduring patience that is frustrating for those of us who aren't similarly built. A few autumns ago my aunt buried her husband in the small cemetary on the hill in Ephraim, after over a year-long battle with colon cancer. He was laid to rest on a beautiful crisp autumn day full of color that brought cold driving rain as we gathered at the graveside. I watched as my aunt collapsed in her children's arms as his coffin was lowered into the cold wet ground and I thought, "That shall be me. That shall be me."
But, those of you who know me well, know that I tend to lean to the dramatic and I already know Steve will be laughing loud when he reads this, wondering why in an attempt to explain our love I gravitate towards his death. I don't want to diminish the love my dear Aunt has for her husband and I am so thankful for the years I have already had with my Steve.
We met at a party in college and the rest, as they say, is history. He professed his love for me soon after, during an embarrassing incident of him reaching under the seat of my VW Rabbit and sticking his hand in an old mashed potatoes container from KFC that had gotten lodged there, unbeknownst to me. I reminded him of Annie Hall and to me he was the safe place, the familiar face I felt I knew all of my life. I told him he didn't love me, because the thought of that really scared me. He wasn't scared off.
He has loved me through so much. He has stuck with me on my darkest nights, has been my biggest fan and my greatest champion. He encourages me to write when I should be making dinner, he encourages me to pray for other men in the middle of the night when I think most men would wonder. He is secure in our love, always faithful. He tells me I'm beautiful on the days I look and feel my worst. He has read psalms to me when I could not get off the floor. He laughs at my jokes, mostly, or tells the boys to laugh at them.
I really don't know why he loves me, still. But he does. It's that bigger than life God love that forgives any wrong, bears all things, knows all things, rejoices in all things. Steve is the most underrated person I know because Steve is good about keeping quiet about Steve. But I am not going t
o be quiet!
So for a love story that started out with a cemetary, this one turned out pretty good. I love you, husband of mine. I'm so glad you are sleeping and can't edit this before I post it.
I am so lucky, so so blessed to have him in my life. My Aunt Dee was married many years to her own Steve, Dr. Brestin, and we often talk about their similarities. Gentle spirits, giant hearts, big loud laughs. Both with a loyalty, and an enduring patience that is frustrating for those of us who aren't similarly built. A few autumns ago my aunt buried her husband in the small cemetary on the hill in Ephraim, after over a year-long battle with colon cancer. He was laid to rest on a beautiful crisp autumn day full of color that brought cold driving rain as we gathered at the graveside. I watched as my aunt collapsed in her children's arms as his coffin was lowered into the cold wet ground and I thought, "That shall be me. That shall be me."
But, those of you who know me well, know that I tend to lean to the dramatic and I already know Steve will be laughing loud when he reads this, wondering why in an attempt to explain our love I gravitate towards his death. I don't want to diminish the love my dear Aunt has for her husband and I am so thankful for the years I have already had with my Steve.
We met at a party in college and the rest, as they say, is history. He professed his love for me soon after, during an embarrassing incident of him reaching under the seat of my VW Rabbit and sticking his hand in an old mashed potatoes container from KFC that had gotten lodged there, unbeknownst to me. I reminded him of Annie Hall and to me he was the safe place, the familiar face I felt I knew all of my life. I told him he didn't love me, because the thought of that really scared me. He wasn't scared off.
He has loved me through so much. He has stuck with me on my darkest nights, has been my biggest fan and my greatest champion. He encourages me to write when I should be making dinner, he encourages me to pray for other men in the middle of the night when I think most men would wonder. He is secure in our love, always faithful. He tells me I'm beautiful on the days I look and feel my worst. He has read psalms to me when I could not get off the floor. He laughs at my jokes, mostly, or tells the boys to laugh at them.
I really don't know why he loves me, still. But he does. It's that bigger than life God love that forgives any wrong, bears all things, knows all things, rejoices in all things. Steve is the most underrated person I know because Steve is good about keeping quiet about Steve. But I am not going t
o be quiet!So for a love story that started out with a cemetary, this one turned out pretty good. I love you, husband of mine. I'm so glad you are sleeping and can't edit this before I post it.