She loves me.

the  fam

Thirty-two years ago today, Nancy and I said “I do” to each other in response to questions from Ronald MacDonald. They were promises about loving and caring and being completely committed.

In the years since that day, we have walked a lot, talked a lot, prayed a lot, worried a lot, laughed a lot. One of us carried three children and buried one. We’ve each grieved a parent, and done so together.

Today we are celebrating nearly eight thousand miles apart, but I get to show up in her mailbox with this message. And as I thought about what to tell her that means the most to me, one phrase came to mind, and immediately made me weep. “She loves me.”

We are not given to grand gestures. We are, Nancy is, committed to daily demonstrations of her love.

But that’s not quite right. She doesn’t demonstrate love. She loves. She made that decision decades ago. And shaped by God and persisting through the challenge that is life, she loves.

Our children, our families, our friends, me. With decisions and actions so subtle they might be missed by those who skim the text of lives, she writes caring and attentiveness and clean. The love in a well-baked pie, in a weekly trip to elderly parents, in actually wanting to spend time with me, is humbling.

Thank you, Nancy, for our journey together and this journey you sent me on.  I’ll see you soon.  And perhaps, for today, the wishes of others will help me celebrate you.

And, of course, I love you, too.

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