It will be ten years ago this year, when I nearly destroyed our marriage.  It was ten years ago when I shattered your heart.  It was ten years ago that you shouldered your pain, my brokenness and trusted in the Lord, and took it upon yourself for the both of us to heal our family.

We were sitting in that conference room, excited and giddy and uncomfortable.  We had already been in counseling, both here in Baltimore and also back in Claremont.  Things were looking up, and we had finally started a weekend you asked me to try several weeks earlier.  It was a website, you told me “saveourmarriage.org” or something along those lines that you found.  It was for married couples beyond crisis, beyond despair.  We looked around the room to find couples sitting in silence, some not looking at each other and others with several seats between them.  I remember watching a wife in tears, sitting while her husband shook his head and left the room.  We met many couples that night, and became close with them over the course of the weekend.  They shared their stories and their journeys, in many ways very similar to ours.  There were lots of tears and a lot of writing.  The program, Retrouvaille had us write letters to each other constantly.  They used the title Dialogue.  We shared our thoughts, our feelings and our admirations.  We talked about marriage, and love.  Commitment and decision.

I can see you now.  In my mind as I write this.  Awake in the dark mornings reading your bible.  Writing.  I love your amazing faith and trust in the Lord.  He knows I have far less strength of belief than you.  And I am in love with your dedication to us.  To me and to our marriage.  To our vows.  To the kids and our family and our future.  I love your worry and concern.  I am humbled by your constant reading and writing, balancing us with the kids, applying for jobs and completing the highest level of academic achievement possible.  Not only for you, or in your family but in our society.  I love that you take it all with a smile, that despite a heavy heart and a worried mind, you protect us from it.  You read while holding William.  You plan your work while you cook for the kids.  You still go upstairs and greet the family and share everything that’s going on.

It is the same beautiful spirit that trained and ran a marathon, while planning a wedding across the country and still interviewed nationally for the job that would eventually take us to Claremont.  You never took out your frustrations on your students or staff.  You still made the seven hour drive down for weekends when you could.  You always made time to call and check in with your family.  It’s still you.

You are the light of my life.  The smiling eyes watching my own grumpy face through the happiest of times and the darkest of nights.  The hand that I vowed, the heart that I broke, the voice that always asks what we need and the texts that wish me goodnight.  You are a wife and mother and woman of God who inspires me to wake up early.  To write.  To read the Bible.  To sing with the joy of our faith, to Matthew in the mornings, to William at night.  At the top of your lungs together with Hope in the car.  Humming quietly to yourself in the kitchen.  You are a reminder that love truly is a decision.  Yours was, is and will always be the face I spoke to through blurry tears, the arms that held our lifeless son, the head that rests against mine when the kids have given up trying to pry us apart.  I can’t wait to run with you through the wilderness of the rest of our life.

Happy birthday Jennifer!

With all my love, your Joseph.