The Difference Between Deference and Doormat

This is Patience, our beagle, and Georgie our kitten.

Patience is bigger than Georgie, stronger than Georgie and louder than Georgie. Patience was here before Georgie. And that is Patience's bed, not Georgie's. In every way, Patience has the power and the privilege to claim that bed.

But here, Patience is exercising a more awesome power. The power to defer--the privilege to be meek.

O.k....so, they're animals. I know. The world would be a better place if it was as easy to catch a picture of people behaving so well.

...but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.
Philippians 2:3b

Blessed are the meek... Matthew 5:5a

Turning 50

That's what my husband, Jim, is doing tomorrow.

Fifi would say, "he's half-a-hundred." Tonight at dinner, when he waxed profound and said something to the effect of, "tomorrow I'll start my 5th decade," I had to break it to him that today he's finishing his 5th decade--thus the "50th" birthday. And that tomorrow he starts his 6th decade.

And then he started counting on his fingers, "O.k., when I turned 10, that was one decade; and when I turned 20, that was two decades..."

I looked at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for his "aha" moment to catch up with me.

And when he stopped counting, I thought he might cry--a big, burly, angry, manly cry of course. Certainly not the defeated, deflated whimper of a man who just realized that what his 6-year old daughter was singing around the house yesterday suddenly didn't sound so nonsensical at all, "I used to be 50...but now I'm 60!"

Poor Jim.

O.k. Sympathetic moment over.

See, twenty years ago he promised to grow old with me. But he's. not. doing. it. right! He's fitter than he's ever been. He's stronger than he's ever been. And with all that fitness and strength, he's more handsome than I signed on for.

He is quite frankly out of my league.

*sigh* I am a blessed woman.

Long before I knew the Lord, He was aligning my life to come into His Kingdom. And His greatest Earthly instrument was a man I first saw at the opposite end of a long hallway in 1987. He was the epitome of "tall, dark and handsome" and the way our eyes met at that distance caused me to have to duck into an adjoining empty room and catch my breath.

No joke.

O.k....so, maybe the "look" we exchanged wasn't one of concern over my spiritual condition, but the Lord had a plan for these two unregenerate sinners nonetheless.

My husband is patient. Or maybe passive. But either way, I feel loved.

Jim is kind. So very kind. I didn't know what kind looked like before I married him and birthed his children.

Jim is not jealous. The only time he was maybe, sort of, a little jealous was when I broke the news to him that I had become a Christian, i.e., been "born again." But in that case, it was a good thing, worthy of coveting.

Jim does not brag. He is, in fact, one of the humblest men I know. He is confident in his conviction, but never loud about it. He is happy to serve as the Lord ordains, but never desires to be seen serving.

Jim never acts unbecomingly. Ever. Because he was raised by a lovely little woman, and not by wolves.

Jim does not seek his own. He is always ready to put aside his own desires for the greater good of what needs to be done for the ones he loves. Sometimes that looks like a five-seater sedan instead of a zippy little convertible. Sometimes that looks like late night dishes--while I blog. Ugh. And sometimes it looks like brushing little girls' teeth at bedtime to bless the mommy.

Jim is not easily provoked. At least, I don't think he is. It hasn't occured to me to try for...oh...17 or 18 years.

Jim does not keep a record of wrongs. But that might just be because now there are four of us girls wronging him in all kinds of ways, everyday, and he's simply run out of brain space. Or maybe he really is just that much nicer than the rest of us.

Jim does not get any satisfaction in seeing sinners, "get what's coming to them," but is encouraged at the testimony of other believers.

Jim bears, believes, hopes and endures. And how. Even though he grunts a little grunt at the idea of unpacking his computer cord and plugging me in so I can continue composing this most flattering post...about him!

In all these ways, my husband has loved me. His life has been used of the Lord to build a beautiful life for me and for our three girls. I cannot imagine myself without him.

I hope he won't waste another second seeing his new age through the eyes of natural man, as if it's something to be avoided, but will rather embrace the privilege of experience and wisdom as a thing the Lord regards as good and worthy of respect.

Oh yes, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JIM!
Your girls love you so much.

Post inspired by 1Corinthians13.

Ingredients For A Very Nice Day...

Combine and Simmer:

1 husband with a day off

1 intelligent and challenging movie by Ben Stein

1 box of Milkduds

1 buttered pretzel

1 trip to Stein Mart to replace Husband's butter-stained pants

1 tenderloin with poblano peppers and Mexican cheese at La Fonda on Main

1 near-13 year old, live-in babysitter

3 cul-de-sac neighbors on babysitting alert

2 boxes of mac 'n cheese for dinner--so nobody chokes

Remove from heat and let set for 30 minutes in front of wedding video from 20 short years ago. Slice and serve with a dollop of prayer voiced by progeny, "...and thank you, Lord, for their 20 years of being married."


And yes, the music playing from the sidebar accompanied our first dance. And has been our children's favorite lullaby too...

Hard-wired for the Headship of My Own Husband

One of the stories that my parents like best to remember of my childhood is the time when I was about the age Dumpling is now--seven--and took a plane to see one of my two sets of out-of-state grandparents. Apparently, something I said caused quite a stir amongst my two very liberated parents in the mid-70s. I can't say that I have a vivid recollection of the day, but when my parents spelled out the story to me 25 years later, I did sense a memory of a perception.

Does that make sense?

I think I remember how I felt...or I can almost step back into my 7-year-old self and know what I was thinking.

What was this crazy statement that so desperately needed correction, redirection, worry, and concern?

"When I grow up, I want to be a stewardess."

Well, actually, that wasn't the word that rocked Dad's world. See, to that, my dad interjected that, "you could be the pilot if you wanted to be."

But, of course, I couldn't think of one single reason why I should...want to, that is.

I answered his noble attempt at raising the son he never had by saying, "No, Daddy! The boys drive the plane; the girls serve the food."

Yeah. That did not go over well at all.

But I don't regret it. I think I know what I was feeling at the time. Having no ideas about money and status, careers and glass ceilings, I simply recognized the woman's "role" as the one to want. I mean, think about it: while the pilot was stuck sitting still and cramped in a tiny little closet for hours doing all the tedious button-pushing, the stewardess got to dress up pretty, she got to see and be seen, and she got to do fun stuff like offer pillows and serve the sodas.

What's not to like about that when you're a 7-year-old girl?

And despite their best efforts to talk it, walk it, and despise it out of me, my parents were not ultimately successful in raising a feminist.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I spent a fair number of years in the work-a-day world trying to be a feminist--thinking I was a feminist--mostly because that was the default setting in the 80s and 90s--without the finesse gained by maturity, I embarrassed myself with requisite shrill demands for "equal pay for equal work."

But you know what? Surprise! I never got it. I only got what every other foot-stomping, loud-mouthed, demanding, pedantic woman with a chip on her shoulder ever got: asked to leave.

Anyway, the interesting part of this memory for me is not that I used to think that the stewardess was the job to want, but that I still do. Well, no, I don't actually want to go out and get the job of a (I guess the p.c. term these days is) flight attendant. But the point is that the job of the stewardess is the servant job--the nurturing role, the caretaker requiring a measure of compassion. And I'm hard-wired that way; all women are. We were created for the distinct purpose of helping and keeping company with our husband, if we have one.

Even the secular world "gets that" with that landmark quote from the man to his estranged wife, "You complete me."

So, how is it that being deemed the completer--the weaker vessel--has become a shame to women?

In the garden, during the doling out of the curses, of course.

God cursed the serpent to slither on the ground and eat dirt all his days for his place in the fall. And snakes still do, indeed slither, don't they?

He cursed the man to work hard, and with frustration pick through thorns and thistles to get his food by the sweat of his brow. My husband's garden is overrun with all manner of unwelcome growth at this late date in the season, as a testament.

And to the woman was assigned the consequence of a painful childbirth (and some teach pregnancy and rearing as well) and...the clincher...an inherent need to be in charge over their husband, all the while being ruled by them according to God's ordination.

It's all there in Genesis 3. And if God says it, that's good enough for me.

But wait! Isn't it just like our Father to temper what we deserve with grace and mercy? Jesus came here to show us what headship is to look like. It isn't oppressive if you look at it through the filter of His Word.

God's ways are a delight. His yoke is easy. Headship--or "patriarchy" as it is called in some circles--is protective, and orderly and beautiful. But it will forever be misunderstood, scoffed at, and mocked by the world.

Expect it from them. I do.

But Christians?

My Favorite Man on the Planet, Hold the Mush

Today was the first Saturday of the month. My chore chart says that I should have been cleaning my blinds. Later, the beagle would be bathed. This post says that there should be 4 cooks in the kitchen--who are not me--making pancakes.

But 'round midnight yesterday, I poured the last of the milk into my cereal bowl, and that. changed. everything.

My thoughtful Husband decided last night, that he should take us out to breakfast this morning. Breakfast "out" in the land of breakfast tacos is not easy to do. Unless you want, well...breakfast tacos. Which we don't.

But never fear! Husband knows this town better than the rest of us, and is discovering what's new all the time. Recently he discovered an authentic a healthy Mexican bakery. Can you say, "Whole grain Pan dulce?" And adjacent to it, is what turned out to be a lovely, small, quiet, clean bistro.

So, everyone dressed, brushed, and loaded up the van while I locked up since I was the last one out.

Here's what it looks like, ladies, when the mood suddenly strikes you--out of nowhere--to stand waiting for your knight to open the car door after 19 years of marriage.

I laughed so hard!

Here we are settling into the pretty surroundings.

Dumpling thinks this is the best water ever!

Sometimes a mom's gotta just throw herself at the kid who never seems to need a cuddle...

Because, really, deep down--she likes it just fine.

The only shot of Fifi that she didn't specifically beg me not to blog. Because, she's just dignified that way. I mean, have you watched yourself eat lately? It's not a good look...for anyone.

Look! An itty-bitty, widdle spoon...

to eat my ice with...

Got it!

Stop playing with your ice.

Pay the man, Daddy!

This is the owner. He was also our waiter. He was so, so nice, but, like most bilinguals here, he speaks too fast for me. I thought it was pretty funny that when he offered my girls, "blah blah," and I asked, "Excuse me?" he changed over to Spanish. And I understood him.

Right next door, in a moment of parental brilliance, Husband would set us up for a whole day's worth of peck, peck, pecking by buying pan dulce...for tomorrow morning.

You can each pick two.

O.k. Here's where y'all get to think we're nuts. Next stop: a restaurant supply store. No, we don't own or manage a restaurant. We just like to look at their stuff.

Oops! Someone has the hiccups.

I hear the Heimlech is good for that.

Fifi found a sign she'd like to hang in our main bathroom. She's a self-admitted germ-a-phobe; but a cleaner cook you'll never find!

Here is my man driving us home in what we affectionately call, the White Bread Box. It's really a Chevy Venture van. I think he's wondering how much it could really hurt if he jumps out of the car at this speed.

Because the 4 females that he's driving with are all singing at the top of their lungs. But never the same song.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. But which one?

Too bad for me, I missed the shot of me soaking Husband with the kitchen sink spray nozzle. It's new. And high powered! It shot straight and soaked him at 10 feet, easy. Barely even hit the wood floors. Then he picked up Cuddlebug and used her for a human shield. And she dissolved into a puddle of tears. Because she has no sense of humor at 4 in the afternoon without a nap.

So, for Cuddlebug, I think it only just and appropriate to end the post with this flattering picture.

He really is my favorite man on the planet. 'Cause he can take it. *smooch*

A Truly Lovely Love Triangle

Today, we went to a wedding.

Not a "making it legal," or a "gettin' hitched," but a covenant marriage celebration. God bless 'em...the late 20's bride and slightly older groom came to the altar with their whole hearts, emotions and bodies free from division or defilement and promised their love and faithfulness to one another. It was beautiful to see, and I'm so thankful that my daughters were able to witness such an unusual spectacle in this world. Purity. Patience. Promise.

There's an almost palpable spirit of sacredness at the wedding of a couple who have said no to dating and instead, committed themselves to the principles of courtship. Their walk down the aisle seems more profound, the vows sound more thoughtful, the music rings clearer, the prayers and blessings--more personal. But best of all, the couple is more in love.

I say they are more in love because their minds and emotions are not remembering old flames. They're not divided. They've been saved for one another. They're not carrying the baggage of other loves into this God-ordained commitment. Their marriage is a triangle between bride, groom and Savior--not a polygon of numerous loves and losses.

Anyway, today we sat on the bride's side; she's the daughter of one of our former pastors. And over the course of an hour, the 1000-person hall filled up with a host of large, homeschooling families who mostly attend one of the three churches left after Boerne Christian Assembly here splintered a few years ago. Well, except us.

We may not worship with them anymore, but we sure do love them! It's always a joy to see, greet and catch up with old friends at a gathering like this. Fifi, especially, has been faithfully praying for the couple and remarking multiple times each day, "What do you think A is thinking right now?" and "I bet A is sooooo excited today."

She's so thoughtful.

So, we arrived early enough to be ushered to a seat with time to spare to silently do some people watching...

Oh! there's so-and-so. *smile and wave*

Look Dumpling, there's your long-lost best friend! *smile, wave and rearrange so Dumpling can sit by said BFF*

Is that so-and-so? Those children are getting so big! *smile and nod*

Oh, good. There's the such-and-such family. Let's make a point to catch up with them at the tea-time reception. *wave*

Hey! Look! She's pregnant again! She's older than me...why can't I seem to get pregnant?

And, hey...so-and-so's pushing an infant stroller. Is that her baby? When did she have a 5th child?

Why can't I have one?

And then, thankfully, my private narcissistic moment is interrupted by the ceremony's commencement. And it is lovely. The wedding party is grand. Flower girls are well-behaved and adorable. And the junior bridesmaid looks so sweet that I praise the Lord in my heart for showing her such a kindness on the 1st anniversary of her daddy's death at an amusement park last year. The widows and the orphans--this community of believers sure does practice a religion that is acceptable and pleasing to the Father.

So, we're watching and listening along to the congregational worship portion of the ceremony and I'm feeling like someone who is happy enough to be at a wedding because weddings are just nice, aren't they? The bride looks so lovely. The worship is so heartfelt. And then I notice the bride's older sister wiping tears in the bridesmaid line. And I watch her for a minute as she watches her sister and it suddenly hits me--these folks aren't merely marrying off their daughter, building her a house on the family acreage and excitedly awaiting the first baby that, Lord willing, will result from this union. These folks are giving their daughter a very grand farewell and giving her to a man who will take her to join him in his ministry...in China.

Did I mention that the groom is an ESL instructor in China?

As this truth settled into my being and the lump in my throat began to hurt, I prayed. I prayed for the bride and groom. I prayed for their marriage. I prayed for their ministry. I prayed for their parents--I prayed they would be strengthened and comforted as they send their girl far, far away.

And I prayed for myself. Because though I believe myself yielded and willing to go wherever He might choose to send me, it hadn't occurred to me before that moment to confront the real possibility that someday He might call me to be yielded and willing to...let Him...send...them. My darlings. To the other side of the world, if that be His will for them.

I long to be that trusting and loving and submitted to my Savior.

And in the midst of all this doubt and confession that is against Him, I am reminded by Him, that to everything there is a season. And that His grace is sufficient for me. And that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

photo credit: The Wedding - Charles Schweninger

Husband, I Don't Need...

...rose petals to vacuum up off the floor.

...lit candles to burn down the house.

...an evening away from the kids @ $6.00/hour.

...or a week away to wonder and worry about them.

...anything being marketed by anyone who says
that you should spend 2 months salary
to show how much you cherish me.

...to read or watch or seek out any new-fangled thinking
on how to love you or respect you, biblically.

...you to read or watch or seek out
any of that superfluous material for my sake, either.

...dinner out (though I appreciate it very much).

...dinner in (though I appreciate it very much).

...for you to bring me flowers
(though I think the ones you chose are lovely).

...anything, really
except for you to just keep being exactly who you are in Him.
And for you to come home for dinner every night.
And kiss the kids, read the Word,
Share your smile and sense of humor.

And maybe take a minute with me to remember and reflect.

After 19 years,
we're more comfortable,
more sure,
more together,
more committed,
more like-minded,
more in love
and more married than ever before.

If the Lord tarries and gives us 1 more year
or the 50 that I've asked Him for,
I will someday rest contented in the
truth that you have been my Prince Charming,
Rescuing me from a life of mediocrity,
Loving me with a tenderness that so beautifully reflects our Lord,
And raising together, the three loveliest girls we've ever met.

And I am blessed that you chose me.

Happy Anniversary, Husband.
I love you.

You have my heart, my trust, my respect.
And I'll follow you anywhere, anytime, for any reason.
Or...
we can just stay right where we are.

One Size Does Not Fit All...

...is just one of the titles I considered for this post.

Another might have been I Am Not An Animal!

This is in defense of my Husband -- a man desiring to be controlled by the Spirit and not by the instinctual flesh -- after reading this post by Carol, one of my favorite, new, regular reads. Let me pause here to say that I enjoy her blog. She's witty. She's informative. She's got cute comics. Her post is a well-written, humorous (if not a little explicit for my public sensibilities) post about how to take good care of your man...if you catch her drift.

But, her ideas today haunted me. They were unsettling. Provocative. Disturbing. But in the end, not necessarily convicting. I didn't know what I thought about any of it until I asked Husband to read it over when He came home. Am I delusional? I wondered. Husband and I have been happily married for nearly 19 years, and I didn't recognize either one of us in most anything Carol wrote.

As I discussed it with Husband and was reassured by him, I cried a little. I cried as I realized that there are still women -- much less Christian women -- who would allow themselves, and even advocate others to objectify themselves in the private, privileged and delightful setting of marital relations. Perhaps that's not what Carol meant, but it wasn't difficult to make the leap.

This wasn't my first experience with Christians who enjoy frank and open dialog about this subject, but I always hold out hope that it will be my last.

Carol had a lot of other things to say about marriage too. Good things. She talked about respect. Space. Time. And I don't doubt for a minute that she and many others are living an experience that deems those exhortations relevant. And it is certainly most commendable that she and others are growing in grace and Godliness as wives through those circumstances. Hopefully, and by His grace, we're all growing in grace and Godliness in one way or another.

But Carol's truth about marriage isn't the only truth. Not everyone is rowing in that boat. Maybe that's why we are to obey our own husband. Talk about inspired scripture!

Not every husband wants to watch football. Not every one wants to hang out with the guys. Mine doesn't even want me to feed him all the time, because cooking is one of his great joys! He doesn't have to ask me for space. Or time. Or respect.

We just are. We are just One. He and I. Me and him. And Christ. There is an ultimate dimension of beauty in our marriage and household now since we began to follow Jesus.

We are best friends. We are lovers. We are parents together to our favorite people. Best of all, we are sojourners together on this remarkable path called Christianity.

Practically speaking, we share common goals. We are in this thing together. I don't remember that we've ever argued about the work. Or money. We both, and each, just do it. Whatever it is in front of us, we just do the work. Ours is not, nor has ever been, a contentious match-up.

How can this be?

Trust. 19 years of trust.

Given...broken...earned...and then chosen.

It's believing the best. It's love.

It's 1Corinthians 13.

A Humble Man's Honor

Once upon a time there was a man who had a wife, a little girl and a driving need to prove himself amongst a community of people who -- with rare exception -- he did not actually respect or care about.

But, this drive was relentless -- albeit subtle. It quietly but effectively chose the family's hometown for them and then kept them living in a continuous state of anxiety, waiting for the fickle master to change his mind. And every time he did, it turned the family's life upside down through unemployment, financial vulnerability and the ever-humbling employment search.

This need for money and fame only ever garnished enough success to frustrate the man and keep him working and hoping for a little bit more and a little bit better -- year after year after year.

Then one day, it happened again. The fickle master stomped his foot, the other shoe dropped, and the job was lost. With it -- wonderously -- went the man's inherent need to stay on this self-defeating road to nowhere. His path would soon be detoured to a life of providing for his family and serving others with the talents and resources he had been practicing for decades.

He found himself a position with a start-up venture, but after a few months, it was clear that the opportunity would not pan out -- which is to say it wouldn't pay the bills, though it had already served a larger purpose in moving the man and his family to a new place where many blessings awaited them.

One afternoon, his present intersected with his future and formed a most intriguing fork in the road. One prong was a job offer to head the marketing department for a local caterer. It was a nice offer because the man enjoyed the art of good food and knew a little about promotion. The money wasn't much, but he and his family had lived on less.

The other prong was an invitation to apply for another job: as an advertising sales executive for a successful radio station. The man had spent his life on the entertainment side of the microphone, and knew quite a bit about promotion in the industry. But the money was nothing -- quite literally. If he was selected, the commission-based salary would afford the man a small loan for a number of months, until he got his footing. It was a big risk, but it was also a tremendous opportunity, limited only by the man's own effort and ability.

The man -- a brand new believer and follower of Christ -- prayerfully chose to pursue the latter, and spent an afternoon away from his wife and daughter to submit himself to a half-day-long psychological apptitude test.

And he failed.

The scores showed him to be ill-suited for the job. He was too nice. Too nice to succeed at business-to-business sales.

But in the next breath, and before she would giddily turn to her computer to consult the stars about the man, the woman who would be his manager stated that she didn't know why she was doing it, but that she felt compelled to make him an offer anyway. And so she did.

And he said yes.

For many months, the small family scraped by as the man sought to learn a new side of the industry in which he had camped all of his adult life. It was really a very sweet time of comaraderie in which a stronger bond was built through the relative hardship that was endured together.

All the while, the man was ever mindful that he had been deemed unsuitable for success. He marveled that this new career challenged his weakest skill set: math and details. He was tempted to be worried about the future.

But the man persevered. He went to all the training conferences. He listened to his managers. He was teachable. He was honest. He was diligent, and quiet and truly wanted to help his clients succeed in their businesses. He did his very best.

But mostly, he walked in the confidence that he could do all things through Christ who strengthened him. And he took comfort in knowing that the Lord would not suffer His children to go without food or clothing. He learned that the Lord was made strong in the man's weaknesses.

And at the end of his 8th year of toiling and building and walking the Narrow Road in the midst of what was too often Vanity Fair, the man was singled out for honor. And he was humbled. And so thankful.

And his wife was so proud of him, as were his dear daughters -- of which there were now three.

Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips.

Proverbs 27:2

Thirteen Thursday

Thirteen things I want my children to know and remember. Whether they take my counsel or not will be their decision.

This is not an exhaustive list! And it is in no particular order.

1. Love God. For Who He IS. Not for Who you want Him to be, or Who your pastor says He is, or Who I say He is, or even Who you think He is. Search His Word to know Him better and humbly remember something J. Vernon McGee said, "The more I study the Word of God, the less I know." You should never "arrive" in your faith. You should never be finished with your study. And cling to the one Who is capable to save.
   
2. Take care of your body. Don't be an expensive, high-maintenance wife, but do see the dentist every six months. Remember, you and your husband will be one flesh -- literally. Your gum disease will be his gum disease. And eat well; believe in the consequences to avoid them.
   
3. Read to your children even when they're old enough to read to themselves -- and do it with inflection, drama, dynamics. Reading aloud is no time for inhibition; you'll bore your audience to death.
4. Don't be afraid to share your questions and doubts with the Lord; it doesn't mean you're not saved and sealed. John the Baptist questioned his own understanding in Luke and Abraham did it in Genesis.
5. Mind your manners. Manners matter. They show your respect for those around you. Remember that familiarity breeds contempt. Minding your manners doesn't necessarily mean being uptight; if you practice them, they will become second nature.
   
6. Don't expect saved behavior out of unsaved people. To do so makes you critical and critical people repel the lost -- and the saved too sometimes!
7. Don't be satisfied to treat others as you would have them treat you, but rather: treat others as they need to be treated.
   
8. Buy knit so you won't have to spend too much time in the sauna...I mean laundry room, ironing clothes for your family. But when you are ironing, give a little steam to your husband's handkerchiefs. It makes them crisp, and that makes you kind.
9. Learn to sew and don't compromise your daughter's (or your) modesty and chastity to the fashion of the day.
10. Be a good steward of your God-given talents and resources -- use them for His Kingdom; rejoice, and never envy, over the gifts given to another.
11. Never buy new something that is going to look used in a month anyway.
12. Trust your parents. We will not give you a stone when you ask for a fish. We love you and want you to have a good life. Let us help you discern the transparency and compatibility of your future spouse.
13. Focus on just one thing. If you're going to be a wife and mother, then be a wife and mother. Don't try to do it on the side. It's not a hobby.

Happy Birthday, Husband!

I had to laugh the other day when you were at the wheel of our mobile bread box (minivan) and started shimmeying in the middle of the road. Remember? You spotted a tennis ball in the middle of the road, and when I looked at you, incredulous, I asked "What are you doing?"

And you giggled like a little boy and protested, "I can't help it! Tin cans...tennis balls...anything in the road like that, I have to try to run it over!" I imagine you were a pretty entertaining little boy. I wonder: did your mother delight in your antics like we do our "little brains?"

It was ironic to catch you being so playful because this week you're turning 48! Yes, you are the man! It was also 19 years ago this day that you forwarded your super-secret, 24-hour, studio hotline number to me, in hopes that I would call you after night school and accept a date with you. Do you recall that Rick and Ed tried to pay you $20 to date me? Do you still promise you didn't take it? Because if you did, I should really get half, don't you think?

I was excited to call you, but you were gone by the time I did. When I heard you on-air the next day, I called you again. You were in the middle of being filmed by an ABC news crew who needed some footage of a moment of silence being observed for a plane that went down between Detroit and Phoenix. I was so sad to find out that you spent your birthday alone the night before, but looked forward to having dinner with you the next Saturday.

I had a lot of notions about you, and worked hard to impress. I tried to make the most of my itty-bitty apartment so that you would not give too much thought to the fact that I was only 19. I know that you only saw the living room for a minute, but were you impressed? Oh yes! And that grey skirt and tunic blouse I wore? I went out and bought that outfit just for our date -- the shoes too. I never did that before. A date with you was a special occasion.

What a lovely evening we had eating black bean cakes on the patio of the Coyote Cafe in the Scottsdale Civic Center. What did we talk about? I can't remember. At some point during dinner, I looked at you and saw -- in my mind's eye -- the word "Husband" plastered across your forehead. It was brief and strange, and I didn't think anything of it until we were engaged or married, but I know now that on some level I knew on our first date, that you would be my husband.

And oh! The lengths you went to "wine and dine" me! Shame on you. If I could have known that we were having all that fun on credit, and that later I would marry you and your debt would be my debt -- well, we might have stopped for burgers at McDonald's more, that's all. But, it was fun and we were young and dumb, so who cares?

We had our first date on August 28, 1987, became engaged on December 5th, and married the next May. Why wait? Do you ever stop and think how blessed we were despite the fact that we forged ahead with our romance without the benefit of Godly counsel, parental blessing or even much fore-thought on our part? We were textbook -- for divorce, that is. But God is good, and we have come to realize that we were made for eachother. Truly. Don't you think?

Over the years, we've certainly grown and changed. Praise the Lord that our directions have been on a parallel trajectory. We used to be all about our careers and travel, clothes shopping and restaurant hopping. Now we're all about living for the Lord, raising the children, enjoying eachother's friendship, finding time for a little romance, and just generally relishing the contended place we've come to.

One of my favorite memories with you is our first birth. You were so calm in the delivery room. Were you calm? Or was that shock? My way of coping during contractions was to grab the breast of your shirt and pull; your mild-mannered answer was, "You're ruining my shirt." (Though you didn't dare tell me to stop!)

I laugh when I think about the day you finally attempted to change your first dirty Fifi diaper. I have it on film -- and it is painful. It took nearly 20 minutes, I think, and started with the noble intention of being very thorough -- which is to say you felt compelled to use every baby product on the changing table. If that wasn't bad enough, most of them hadn't been opened yet and so you were fighting with lotions and ointments that still hid their protective seal under the cap. Fifi screamed bloody murder at you until finally your demeanor changed and you firmly and politely ordered me to, "turn off the video, please." I'm glad you can laugh about it now.

I won't talk about washing the kitchen window. I'll only say that if something is that hard, we're probably doing it wrong.

I love how you delight in the gifts your little girls scavenge for you on a day like this: finger puppets and topless jewelry boxes; big pink Care Bear dolls; "embroidered" handkerchiefs and hand-made, crocheted pen holders.

I love to watch you sharing your passion and knowledge in the kitchen with Fifi, and now Cuddlebug. Hey! Where's Dumpling?

How sweet it is when you take us all to one of your favorite places from your childhood: like Philippe's in Los Angeles. And no, sweetheart -- nobody but you wants one of those purple, pickled eggs.

I'm grateful for the moments you open your mouth and speak humble but monumental words of wisdom to me. Do you even know you're doing that? Do you have any idea the impact of some of your insights and advice on my life?

I am blessed by your determination to live a life worthy of my trust. I am comforted that your reassurance to me stems not from your love for me, but from this statement you made: "I know who I am in Christ."

I'm so proud of you in the moments that you know what's right and stand for it against the crowd, albeit silently. I'm impressed with your discretion that knows the right or wrong time and place for a rebuke. I'm more impressed with your God-given ability to make a rebuke without threatening anyone. I think you are remarkable.

You are my very favorite man on the planet. You have all my trust. You have all my respect. I don't know anyone who I believe is more genuine, sincere, dedicated, gracious and discreet. Being married to you is not hard work, and for that I am truly grateful...and delighted...maybe even a little giddy...or relieved. Maybe all of that. But in the end, just know that I love you dearly. Happy Birthday, Husband.

*whisper* And, you can take the oil painting out of the attic now; surely I've caught up with you and no one can tell who, between the two of us, is 9 years, 8 months older than the other.

Updated to add more links about my favorite man on the planet:

Fun Stuff Happy Birthday