How does he love me? Let me count the ways.
He makes breakfast on Saturday mornings (and Sundays) and cleans up the kitchen, which has usually been neglected for a couple of days, so I can have time to write.
He makes supper after working a 12-hour day when the pain from my herniated disc has bound me to the loveseat with a heating pad on my back. (Which is almost every weekday now.)
He makes my tea just the way I like it.
He brings in the firewood so we can conserve heating oil and I don’t have to be cold. He knows I hate being cold.
He repairs my ’97 Explorer in the freezing rain, blowing snow, and frigid temperatures because we need a second vehicle and can’t afford a payment on a new one just yet. And because I can’t drive the truck anymore—it aggravates my pain.
He spends two hours blowing snow from the lane after supper, in the dark, when he’d rather be working on an inside project or cozied up on the couch watching NCIS reruns with me, so I can get out in the morning.
He watches NCIS reruns for the nth time because it’s my favorite program, even if there’s something else he’s interested in watching (unless it’s an elk-hunting show).
He puts down a new floor in the kitchen and kick plates on the cabinets, in the evenings after work.
He listens with patience when I whine (or maybe he’s just pretending to listen).
He drives me to a speaking engagement near Pittsburgh, a two-plus hour drive one way, on a Monday evening, waits in the Ranger while I speak, then drives me home in still another snowstorm.
He gets up at 5 a.m. and goes to work the next day, even though we got home after midnight.
He texts me at work to make sure I got there safely.
He doesn’t complain when we have leftover leftovers.
He eats everything I make, even when it doesn’t turn out. (He once told me, “I was in the service. I can eat anything.” Thirty-eight years later, the statement is still true.)
He doesn’t mind the dust, even when it’s been around awhile (like a month or more).
He vacuums the floor because running the vacuum hurts my back.
He packs his lunch every morning because I don’t do lunch buckets. (Besides, every time I do, I get something wrong.)
He supports me in every decision I make, whether or not he agrees with it.
I know it sounds like he’s perfect. He’s not. But he’s perfect for me. He’s the Valentine of Valentines, a daily gift from God, my life partner in every sense of the word.
Live happily with the woman you love through all the . . . days of life that God has given you under the sun. The wife God gives you is your reward for your earthly toil (Ecclesiastes 9:9 NLT).
Dear God, thank You for my husband. He is the most unselfish person I know. Help me to be the wife he needs, the wife he deserves. Bless him as he has been a blessing to me—exceedingly abundantly above all he can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). Amen.
Special-Tea: Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
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