Twenty-one years ago during what weather forecasters declared “The Arctic Express,” Patrick and I were married in the Seattle area. Not many of our guests could come because the hilly roads became an ice skating ring. Our sound system didn’t arrive, so we danced to a boom box (very quiet and pretty awkward). Our first night’s bed and breakfast got cancelled the night before, so Patrick had to scramble to find a hotel. And in that hotel in the wee hours of December waning, an earthquake tripped the alarm, sending us and other guests into the hallway.

So we started with mishap, but we’ve endured with joy.

Ups and downs. Joy and tears. Three amazing children. Ten moves (including big ones from Seattle to Texas and Texas to France and back again).

I’m terribly thankful for a husband who loves Jesus, adores me, and fathers his children brilliantly. I wouldn’t be who I am today without his constant, steady cheerleading, his encouragement for me to grow, and, yes, even our conflicts. All that mixed together has blessed me in ways I can’t quantify.

Patrick, I love you. I need you. I enjoy spending time with you. Still.

Let’s keep walking this path together.