Fifteen years ago today, I woke up early and went for a jog. I’m not a runner (and wasn’t then either), but it seemed to be the most logical way to unload some of the nervous energy pulsating through my veins. After all, I was getting married in a few short hours.
It wasn’t the anxiety of losing my manly independence, or the question of whether I was committing my life to the right woman. In retrospect, I think I feared my ability to become the man she needed me to be. A husband.
We’re far from perfect. We disagree, irritate each other, communicate poorly, act like broken humans. All the things other married couples do. But love is where we’ve made our home. And love miraculously devours a multitude of dysfunction and self-centeredness.
And from that love, the most beautiful things have emerged. A life, a home, three beautiful children, (a handful of irritating little dogs), and a willingness to follow the voice of God on some of the strangest and most risk-filled adventures.
After 15 years, I couldn’t love her more. Her wisdom and ingenuity. Her faith in God (and somehow in me). Her willingness to sit through bad action movies and (sometimes) even pretend she likes them. Her commitment to our children. Her ability to give up security for the sake of obedience to God’s voice.
But most of all, I’m grateful that every morning when I wake up, she still chooses to be there.
I’m the luckiest man alive.
Not just because we made it 15 years. Because these first 15 are just a small sign of what’s yet to come.
I love you Mandy. If I could do it all over again, I’d still choose you.