My Andy

It's been a couple weeks since I've written. Class reunion, followed by my baby's 17th birthday. Living Life. Living a thankful life. Some days not as I would have written them, but nonetheless, I'm learning to be at peace, to be thankful for the little, for the plenty and for the small.

A couple days ago, my MIL took a tumble. She ended up in the hospital with a broken wrist, elbow, and neck. I've had time to reflect. A lot of time. My mind swarms with questions, fear, doubt, mercy, love, gratitude. I have had to choose which emotions to pick up and carry.

I watch my husband, her son: Strong. Hard working. Wise. Thinker. Full of mercy.

I practice thoughts and words, both spoken outside my head; he is a man of few words. I write; he processes. I cry; he plays angry birds. I am messy; he is neat. I do laundry monthly; he every week. I am complex; he is simple. I am woman; he is not. We are a perfect pair.

In the short year and 11 months we have been married, this dear man has been dealt situation after situation. Event after event. I have yet to hear him complain. Nope not once. He is a man of few words. He is my man of few words. Men of few words are the best men.


In the words of Ann Voskamp:

"Love needs few words, it only needs will.

The words that matter most are the ones that we live and you teach me how to write a love letter.

I lay down my pen.

I long to write you real words.


Your very lives are a letter that anyone can read by just looking at you. Christ himself wrote it — not with ink, but with God’s living Spirit; not chiseled into stone, but carved into human lives…"


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