We were running hill sprints the other day, you and I. Because that’s normal. Actually, watching you run ahead of me, and then ‘lap’ me reminded me of the last time we ran hill sprints together. It was five years ago. My legs were stronger then, thanks to the hills of Westwood, and I ran hill sprints with my friend Alana. You noticed those gangly legs clumsily carrying me up a hill at my top speed and decided that perhaps I was worth pursuing. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’d hoped the hill sprints would win you over. Much like taking guitar lessons from you and getting you a job at Starbucks. Hill sprints are anyone’s last ditch effort I’m sure, and I’m glad it worked.
Here we are, after four years of marriage and five years since last running up hills (to clarify, I can barely jog up a hill – though you most definitely sprint)… returning to a pastime that once sparked an interest in your heart for me.
We’re four years better, I think.
Marriage is refining like that.
In four years we’ve faced the parts of us that we hate the most, offered ourselves – the good and bad – to one another, and grown in grace. You are a man I am pleased to call my husband. This refinement I’m talking about has been a joyful refinement. You light up my life. Really, you do.
Our marriage isn’t perfect, but it’s really really good, and I am so grateful for you. Thanks for four years, love. Here’s to a lifetime ahead of us…