On the day you asked me that breathless question with shining eyes and a blue velvet box, I needed no time to think.
And on the day (Five years and 20 days ago to be exact-) you sat near my head, us both wearing paper shower caps and holding our breath as the Doctor pulled her out and up and she, pink faced and protesting like a kitten– miffed at her eviction from her warm nest, made parents out of a crazy in love couple– I knew I was glad I said yes.
Yes to you. Yes to our life. Yes to babies after only a year. Yes to forever.
And when we staggered with cups in front of the coffee pot, after precious little sleep– I was thankful to be leaning on you.
When I went back to work and you stayed home with a 9 week old bundle– to be a Daddy and look for work– I cried. Because I wasn’t there. But also so grateful you were.
When there was a miscarriage of hope before we even got used to the idea of being a family of four– you let me grieve. You loved our little family with outstretched arms and helped me see the hope that we would grow again some day soon.
When we packed up our whole life and moved two states away, we were all anxious to peek round the corner and see the beauty that was to be in the next chapter of our life together.
Transitions. We had many and you led us all to trust, and to wait.
Then the joy and the surprise and the beautiful wait came again… and another operating room. More paper shower caps for you and for me and another sweet baby girl, blessed with your cheek bones and silly- wonderful sense of humor.
You held both these babies so tenderly, both fresh to new life and still blinking at the light of it all. And you hold them now, and me- with the gracious, gentle love we have come to rest in, and sometimes take for granted.
They run, squealing from each corner of the house, when you come in each day. They trust you. They rest in you. They want to make you proud. And you listen. And you dance. And you play. You teach them what life more abundantly looks like.
And they are learning. Yes, learning how to ride a bike. Learning how to not scream in terror at every fly in their vicinity. Learning how to control their emotions and act with kindness toward one another. Learning what a family is. Learning God’s grace. His patience and love.
They are learning Love.
They know how precious they are to you. And so do I.
And all these moments, all these moments add up to many years and the years fly right by. We mark the years in birthday candles and anniversaries and “oh they need new shoes again.” And it all adds up to more joy than I ever thought possible.
It adds up to millions of moments of grace. There have been many defining moments of grace. Moments I never saw coming, or some that I might have. Moments that cause me to stop right in my tracks to Praise HIM for giving us each other. For giving us this life together. For giving us all you.
We are blessed with you as the leader and shepherd of our family. You as my husband. You as their daddy.
Today is Father’s Day. But YOU are OUR gift.