I don’t know how you love me the way you do.
You love me without fail.
You love me with infinite patience.
You love me with encouragement.
You love me with enthusiasm.
You match my playfulness.
You match my silliness.
You match my sadness.
You break apart when I hurt.
You want nothing more than my happiness, my fulfillment.
You want me to shine. You’ll do anything to let me.
You have more faith in me than I’ve ever seen a man have in his wife. More faith than I’ve seen a child’s father have in her mother.
You have trust in me.
You have passion for me.
You have an intensity to show me that this optimism, the one that is often so brutal, so disheartening, so angering, is very needed.
You show me it’s not futile.
You show me that you will be beside me, especially when I hurt.
That you will be my encourager.
That you will offer your hands to me.
Your tears with me.
You show me every day.
Every single day of your life.
You show me what I mean to you. What I mean to this world. What I mean to our child. What I mean to God.
You show me that I mean so much.
You honor me.
You’ve only ever shown me truth.
How can you love me the way that you do?
So infinitely…
So wholesomely.
You keep me on my feet. You keep me hoping. You are the artist of every dream I have in my heart, every certainty I know in my bones.
