To My Husband, at 40
I've been thinking for weeks about what I might write to you today, on your 40th birthday. It feels like a big milestone, and this year we've celebrated big. It only seems right. After all you do for all of us, it's about time we celebrated you.
I don't think I've ever met someone as generous, selfless, and caring as you are.
For years I've known not to worry when you are late coming home, or take longer than I thought to run an errand. When you do finally make it home on those days, you typically come in the door with a quick apology and look of concern on your face. "I'm so sorry that took longer than I thought--I hope you weren't worried. It's just there was..." and then you share the story of someone you helped. A person who had run out of gas. A mother stranded in a car with all of her children. An elderly person who was lost. I don't think, after all these years, I could count the number of times it's happened. And I don't think anyone else even knows you do it. It's just one of the thousands of unspoken, quiet ways you're a hero.
You're entering your third year as a fourth grade teacher. This career was a huge change--a bit of a gamble. But I always saw this heart in you. You were born to teach, Micah, and born to inspire the next generation. You've always done it. When we were first married, it was the high school students with whom you worked. You spent hours building relationships, listening to their stories, walking through life with them. Our home was often filled with teenagers laughing and playing Dance Dance Revolution. And you were at the center of it, living life and giving them a shining example of what a man could and should be. For the next several years, it was college students-- "our guys"-- who benefited from your mentorship, friendship, and constant example. One by one many of them graduated, moved on to careers, and got married. And almost all of them talked about how much you had shaped the men they had become. I couldn't have been more proud. Now it's the younger generation that has the privilege of sitting at your feet. You bring all the heart and passion and absolute brilliance to this role that you have to all the others. And I see it. When I come in to visit your classroom, I see faces lit up as they look at you. I see it when a former student races across a store to you to give you a hug. I see it in the tears when they have to say goodbye to you at the end of the year, and in the faces of the parents who are so grateful for what you've done in their child's life. It's just another of the thousands of unspoken, quiet ways you're a hero.
You are one of the best fathers I have ever seen. When the kids were little and you worked long days, you always came home, asked how my day had been, and then dropped to the floor to play with the kids. They watched for you at the window for almost an hour before you arrived many days, because they were so excited to see you. As they've gotten older, you've worked so hard to build relationships with them, to connect with them on things that matter to them, to teach them about life and what it means to be a godly adult. You don't do it perfectly--neither of us does. But that may be the most meaningful gift you've given our kids, actually. When you get it wrong, or when there's conflict between you, you are always humble. You go back to them. You admit your mistakes and you ask them for forgiveness. Then you work to make the relationship right, to connect with them again. I know you don't feel like a hero in those moments, but it's yet another one of the many things that makes you exactly that.
And as a husband... I could write pages about you. I've always been disappointed by love stories in movies, because in all honesty they fall short of what we have. I wish everyone in the world could have a story like ours. You are always considerate, always selfless, always caring. You carry the load for both of us more often than I could ever realize, and you do it without complaint. We've weathered some unbelievably big storms in a decade and a half. But when I look back on them, I always see the two of us facing them together, hand in hand. When I start to worry or when I'm scared, you're there, wrapping me in your arms and pressing me against your chest. It's my favorite place in the world. I love to escape with you, to take time out from everything to be alone with you. Whether it's a weekend away someplace by the water, an afternoon hike, or sitting out on our balcony in the evenings, I'm the luckiest girl in the world when I'm with you. Your wisdom and calm presence have taught me what it means to be still, to wait on God's answers, to trust. Your fearlessness and courage have slowly taught me to let go of my fear. Your generosity and awareness of other people's needs have taught me to walk through the world with my eyes open, too. You always say the mark of a good relationship is whether it makes a person better. We must have one heck of a relationship, then, because I am who I am today so much because of you. I could go on and on and on, but by now I'm sure you're blushing. There are ten thousand things, though, that make you the hero of my story.
So today we celebrate you. I don't think we could ever do you justice, but I hope you know just how much we love you. Happy birthday to the man I still can't believe I'm lucky enough to call mine.
I don't think I've ever met someone as generous, selfless, and caring as you are.
For years I've known not to worry when you are late coming home, or take longer than I thought to run an errand. When you do finally make it home on those days, you typically come in the door with a quick apology and look of concern on your face. "I'm so sorry that took longer than I thought--I hope you weren't worried. It's just there was..." and then you share the story of someone you helped. A person who had run out of gas. A mother stranded in a car with all of her children. An elderly person who was lost. I don't think, after all these years, I could count the number of times it's happened. And I don't think anyone else even knows you do it. It's just one of the thousands of unspoken, quiet ways you're a hero.
You're entering your third year as a fourth grade teacher. This career was a huge change--a bit of a gamble. But I always saw this heart in you. You were born to teach, Micah, and born to inspire the next generation. You've always done it. When we were first married, it was the high school students with whom you worked. You spent hours building relationships, listening to their stories, walking through life with them. Our home was often filled with teenagers laughing and playing Dance Dance Revolution. And you were at the center of it, living life and giving them a shining example of what a man could and should be. For the next several years, it was college students-- "our guys"-- who benefited from your mentorship, friendship, and constant example. One by one many of them graduated, moved on to careers, and got married. And almost all of them talked about how much you had shaped the men they had become. I couldn't have been more proud. Now it's the younger generation that has the privilege of sitting at your feet. You bring all the heart and passion and absolute brilliance to this role that you have to all the others. And I see it. When I come in to visit your classroom, I see faces lit up as they look at you. I see it when a former student races across a store to you to give you a hug. I see it in the tears when they have to say goodbye to you at the end of the year, and in the faces of the parents who are so grateful for what you've done in their child's life. It's just another of the thousands of unspoken, quiet ways you're a hero.
You are one of the best fathers I have ever seen. When the kids were little and you worked long days, you always came home, asked how my day had been, and then dropped to the floor to play with the kids. They watched for you at the window for almost an hour before you arrived many days, because they were so excited to see you. As they've gotten older, you've worked so hard to build relationships with them, to connect with them on things that matter to them, to teach them about life and what it means to be a godly adult. You don't do it perfectly--neither of us does. But that may be the most meaningful gift you've given our kids, actually. When you get it wrong, or when there's conflict between you, you are always humble. You go back to them. You admit your mistakes and you ask them for forgiveness. Then you work to make the relationship right, to connect with them again. I know you don't feel like a hero in those moments, but it's yet another one of the many things that makes you exactly that.
And as a husband... I could write pages about you. I've always been disappointed by love stories in movies, because in all honesty they fall short of what we have. I wish everyone in the world could have a story like ours. You are always considerate, always selfless, always caring. You carry the load for both of us more often than I could ever realize, and you do it without complaint. We've weathered some unbelievably big storms in a decade and a half. But when I look back on them, I always see the two of us facing them together, hand in hand. When I start to worry or when I'm scared, you're there, wrapping me in your arms and pressing me against your chest. It's my favorite place in the world. I love to escape with you, to take time out from everything to be alone with you. Whether it's a weekend away someplace by the water, an afternoon hike, or sitting out on our balcony in the evenings, I'm the luckiest girl in the world when I'm with you. Your wisdom and calm presence have taught me what it means to be still, to wait on God's answers, to trust. Your fearlessness and courage have slowly taught me to let go of my fear. Your generosity and awareness of other people's needs have taught me to walk through the world with my eyes open, too. You always say the mark of a good relationship is whether it makes a person better. We must have one heck of a relationship, then, because I am who I am today so much because of you. I could go on and on and on, but by now I'm sure you're blushing. There are ten thousand things, though, that make you the hero of my story.
So today we celebrate you. I don't think we could ever do you justice, but I hope you know just how much we love you. Happy birthday to the man I still can't believe I'm lucky enough to call mine.
