August 20/14
Dear Mark,
Happy
Anniversary! We’re at nine now, in case
you forgot J. I’ll say what many
have said: Where has the time gone?
I was just
describing to the girls a couple of days ago how you proposed to me (they were
playing with my rings, which I rarely remove – only for hot tub prep J).
I explained that we walked down a beach (not according to your plan,
which I now understand would have been hard for you!). You got quiet. Then, by the water on the rocks, you got down
on one knee, (and I wish I could remember your exact words, but I can’t),
professed your love, asked that infamous question, and slipped that infinite
circle on my finger.
If I reverse
further, I recall the unlikelihood of our union. I was so resistant. I didn’t need a boyfriend in my first year of
school. I wanted to focus on my
studies. I would NOT factor into the get-your-MRS-degree-at-Redeemer
statistic. Nope. It didn’t matter that you were so friendly,
that we had such an ease of conversation, that we had a lot in common (sports
and upbringing – solely Christian-educated, even the same church denomination, though
your mom was training to be a reverend –
were you kidding? – and my dad was more traditional J).
I would remain single for now.
I was so
confident that I walked to your dorm to set the story straight. You had disappeared after finding out –
through your match-making messengers J – that I was not interested in
you. I explained that it wasn’t anything
you were or weren’t; I just didn’t want to date at that time. But, I told you, I did miss having you
around. And, if it wasn’t too awkward
for you, we could still hang out – as friends.
You seemed okay with that.
God had other
plans. He gave me eyes for you. No, really.
One week after I pronounced my lack of love for you, you sat across from
me on a bus headed for mission in Mississippi.
We’d all – your friends and mine – had decided this would be fun. I saw you on the bus, and then, as if God had
given me a pair of glasses (or contacts), I felt this slight attraction. That’s ridiculous, I told myself. I was sure I didn’t like him. But that trip was a game changer: I watched
you sweat to mend a woman’s roof. I watched
you playfully interact with anyone. I
watched you gently care for me. Something
changed in me. I was confused.
It wasn’t
long after that trip that I had to retract my rejection of you and tell you
that for some reason, I was now interested in a relationship. But, let’s make it official after I head
home, not because I need permission, but because my parents have no idea who
you are!
God seemed
to have fun as Match-Maker. Yeah, we had
identical comforters on our dorm beds (weird).
And, when I first visited the KG residence, there was a picture of me on
your fridge. Why is my picture on your fridge?
I had received a scholarship through a program the in-laws-to-be
financially supported, so I was featured, along with a few others, on a
pamphlet. She looks like a nice girl, your dad teased. It was a running joke: this girl in the one-by-one was the one for you. Maybe
there’s wisdom in arranged marriages.
It wasn’t a
perfect dating relationship (remember that second year when you were really
distracted by your buddies?!) and It hasn’t been a perfect marriage. We’ve been good at co-existing instead of
co-living. We’ve failed to understand
each other (but I think I finally understand your love-languages!). We’ve had a slow-growing relationship, I
think.
But, it’s
been beautiful! We’ve grown in our
understanding of each other and of God. We’ve
only had a few fights, and they were kind of boring. We have been given the privilege of raising
three female souls, the first of whom was extra miraculous. I could go on and on about our marriage
blessings. I am so thankful for you, my
Friend and Flame.
In our first
year of marriage – you know, that year when you were working and I was still in
teacher’s college – someone asked me to describe you. It caught me off-guard. I answered awkwardly: Um, well, he’s a goof! He’s really nice. Yah, he’s great!
I’ve always
wished I had said this:
He’s genuine. He embodies WYSIWYG – what-you-see-is-what-you-get (and it’s handsome!). He’s very honest (though I’ve had to tug a bit for an explanation of emotions behind the bottling up J). He’s not a fraud. The gentleness? He's always like that. The patience? It's pretty consistent.
He’s friendly. With everyone. That was my first impression of him over soup
in the cafeteria. He makes – and keeps –
a lot of friends. He golfs at least
annually with Redeemerites (university gents), still hangs out with the “Woodland gang" (the high school where I teach and from which Mark graduated), and has even re-connected with friends from
elementary. He picks up new friends at
work and in courses he’s taking.
Seriously – who needs that many friends?!
He’s faithful. It may not be obvious, because he doesn’t
talk about it a lot (and I was looking for a more blatant version of it before
dating), but he is a Christ-follower. He
is consistent in prayer. He opens his
Bible. He serves on church council –
though he’s not entirely confident of the fit (but of course, our church has
been blessed by his leadership). After a
3-year term, he hops into another position.
Even now, with cancer treatment approaching, he is carefully fulfilling (and
finishing) his commitments (would you just pass it on?!). He desires to serve God.
He’s also interested in serving
others. He is a giver. Yes, when women playfully poke at their
husbands’ lack of domestic help, I can’t contribute. He’s really helpful. He’ll do the dishes, clean, vacuum, anything
really (well, maybe not squash spiders ;) ).
(Don’t get me wrong – he’s very masculine. He does, after all, domesticate to the tunes
of Lincoln Park!). I forgot a grocery
item? He gets it without a “tisk”. Even in the quiet of the night, he seems more
interested in giving than getting.
And now that
you are a daddy, I would say that you are a loving, doting dad. Sure, you wanted even just one boy, but wow,
you are great with your girls (and you even grew to see the beauty of a set of
all-girls!). Your mall trips with them
are endearing. Even if it’s just to watch
them walk around with quarters in hand eager to plunk them into a bubble gum
machine and hope for two instead of one – and pink and purple. Your gentle, girl-geared wrestles are priceless. You call them your princesses. You comb through tangles. You endure a lot of pink and purple and
sparkles and frills and jewelry and Disney princesses. And Frozen songs, sung severely off-key.
No, you're not perfect, and I remind you of that far too often. But you are perfect for me.
The first
Sunday after your diagnosis, we went to church.
We worshiped with the body of Christ.
Our friends happened to be leading worship, and had your diagnosis in
mind while preparing the service. It was
beautiful. I think there were four songs
from my personal “Trial Tunes” playlist that I had on repeat and others referenced
Scripture I had taped to our bathroom mirror.
The message was encouraging. But
the first and former pastor of our church – who did NOT know us – referenced
our wedding text in his closing blessing.
Only God could have done that. I love
these words from Ephesians 5:2: “and live a life
of love, just as Christ loved us and
gave himself up for us as a
fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”
I pray that this is our legacy for our children: that we lived lives of
love – love for each other, love for them, love for others, love for the Lord.
Mark, it
rained on our wedding day. We were
disappointed. But that photo – the one
with us huddled under an umbrella – is one I think I will grow to cherish. It signifies I DO: in sunshine and in
rain. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.
Huddled with
you, beneath a divine umbrella, in His shadow, under His wing,
Sarah XOXO
