We – and apparently everyone else in the Metroplex who WASN’T at the Ft. Worth Zoo – spent the day at the Arboretum. We were wowed by the brilliant rainbows of flowers, amazed at the creative architecture of the Storybook Playhouses and refreshed by wonderful conversation, fresh air, and time to be together. Of course, we saw our fair share of brides and “quince” girls having their pictures taken among the various gardens. And over the course of the past two days I’ve learned of two friends whose marriages are failing.
And my heart breaks for them.
But it also makes me realize how grateful I am for my own marriage. Our marriage is far from perfect, and we’ve definitely had our share of troubles, but in a few months we will celebrate our 16th anniversary and we’re still going strong. I’m grateful for a man who loves me in spite of all my quirks and insecurities. I’m grateful for a man who acknowledges my strengths and encourages me in them. I’m grateful for a man who has allowed me to find my passions and maintain a sense of myself even as we strive to “become one flesh.”
I’m grateful for a husband who listens to me, who allows me to vent my hurts, anger, and frustration. I’m grateful for a husband who – every once in awhile, not so often that I expect it, but just enough to keep me surprised – brings me flowers “just because.” I’m grateful for a husband who takes time to be with me, to do things with me, so that we can deepen the bond of our friendship. I’m grateful for a husband who still wants to go on dates with his “girlfriend” so we can keep the romance alive.
But most of all, I’m grateful for a husband who, when I shared the news of our friends with him last night, said, “As long as we keep putting Christ first, and not you or me, I think we’ll be okay.”
I love that man.