We can paint him black, we can paint him white, we can paint him in rainbow colors or in muted tones. That’s what makes him awesome. I could spill out his worst qualities right now for my entire audience of about 12, and he’d still love me. Not only would he still love me, he wouldn’t be offended. He knows his worst qualities (perhaps thanks to me) and he does what every great man does with such wisdom, he works to change what he can, and he works to balance what he can’t change with love.
He has a ‘real’ job that makes me cringe! He does it with a bravery and consistency and stoicism that I can hardly even fathom.
Then he comes home and creates magic. He builds structure, raises the bacon, fixes the problems, big and small and well, other stuff, but we’ll keep this G-rated.
I could write a book about how wonderful he is, or I could write a book about how much better he could be, and he wouldn’t argue, and he wouldn’t say, “Why don’t you write a book about how much better YOU could be.” Because he knows me, and he knows how much time and effort I spend on trying to be a better me.
That he is a good provider, a good worker, a gentle-man, with a long list of other positive characteristics and attributes are all secondary to the way he earns my adoration. I am secure in my devotion because he does not ask me to self-erase. He does not expect me to falsify my experience to make him look good or feel better. Life squashing is not an amusement for him.
He knows when I’m hurting and he knows I’ll get through it, but he’ll face my tears with the same courage he faces the great big Gulf. And smile at the little ways I find to soothe myself, like goofy garden art. 🙂
I love you, my sweet, Happy Birthday! I hope and intend to be with you for the rest of them.