Today I'm participating in the Mr. Thomas and Me letter linkup. Amber describes it best: [These letters] are written to remember mundane moments that would otherwise slip away, to hold tight to him, and to remember how life looks right now at this very moment with the chance to shed light on your heart.
I, like Amber, have decided to write these letters to my husband, documenting our moments before we have kiddos. And today, I'm talking about a lesson he's taught me (it was hard to choose just one).
When we first started dating, I didn't get it. In fact, from the first moment I met you—I didn't get it. I rolled my eyes at you and told you I was too busy to get to know you—that dating was too big of a hassle and that it'd probably end in failure if I tried at it. But that's because I didn't get it.
I was always too uptight to really stop and dwell in the moment. I was so concerned with the pursuit of "perfect" and making every single minute count as an effort towards perfection that I was missing the very, perfect thing standing in front me: a real authentic, intrinsic love that made every single moment okay in all of its imperfectness. A love that made every imperfect thing about myself okay. A love that taught me a valuable lesson in faith and the ability to put my trust in a God who is perfect, who knows perfect, and yet loves an imperfect me. You taught me that being imperfect is okay.
You're simple—in the most sincere, uncomplicated, and real way possible. You're a rock—the one that holds fast when I'm losing it because life, once again, hasn't turned out the way I've expected it to. You're positive—in the most faithful, grounding way I've ever seen in someone. When your world came crashing down with an unexpected layoff, you humbled yourself before God, picked up the pieces, and took every moment with an incredible amount of faith. During that difficult time, you taught me so much. You taught me about what it means to actually have faith. You taught me that worry and fear don't make any situation better. You taught me to take every moment for what it is—in all of its imperfection.
It changed me. You've changed me. And I'm braver that I've ever been before. I'm ready for the difficult journey we're about to embark on together. I'm ready to face the rough days, the tiresome days, the hopeless days—because all of those moments are what make up this big, beautiful story we're writing together. I no longer care about "perfect"...
I'm glad you still pursued me before I ever really got it. That you looked at me the way no man has ever looked at me, because you were able to see past the walls I put up to keep you out. I'm glad that you taught me, and are continuing to teach me, how to look beyond myself and my own worries and how to dwell in my here-and-now, regardless of how perfect it is or isn't.
I'm glad that you continue to stick with me as I learn this lesson you've taught me over and over again.
I love you in the midst of our imperfect marriage.