[an ode to mark: mine for nine]

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