Not to Brag, But...

I have a wonderful husband.  So many women think their husband is the most wonderful man in the world.  And, naturally, we are all correct in our thinking!  But, with all of us who think that, there are so many more women out there who do not have wonderful soul mates.  Their husbands simply don't measure up to what they thought the "love of their life" should be.  They are disappointed and unhappy.

My Blair, however, is so much more than what I ever thought a husband could be.  After seven years of marriage, he still takes out the trash, helps clean up after dinner, and puts his dirty laundry in the hamper.  These things, however, are trivial.  They are not what go into making a successful life together.  Ironically, though, they are the very things that destroy so many.  

My Blair works very hard.  He teaches high school, which in and of itself would be enough to make me check myself into a mental institution, but on top of this he works two part-time jobs.  He conducts our local youth orchestra.  His music training is in voice, so this is not a job that comes naturally to him.  He has to work at.  And he does.  Because, with Blair's standards, if you are going to do something (especially in music), you do it well.  You research it and learn and improve.  My Love also ministers to our church through music and Scripture.  He feels a burden for his congregation and seeks to nurture them with words of God.  Working in a church is not simple work.  It may not take up the bulk of his time, but when you are working with people's hearts and souls there is much to prayerfully consider (always, whether you are a pastor, minister of music, or teacher).

My Blair works hard here on Lankford.  Not only does he create and build beautiful pieces to improve the aesthetic and function of our house, he works hard to make it a home.  He is a wonderful father.  Is he a perfect father?  Of course not.  There is only one Perfect Father.  But he loves his children and strives to teach them with the love of God.  He disciplines and plays.  Instructs and sympathizes.  Makes jokes and soothes scraped knees.  He gets up in the middle of the night to calm the fears from a nightmare, and he rises early in the morning with a fussy baby.  I don't even have to put gas in our car because he takes care of that, too.  There are weeks and months when he is rarely at home, and rather than feeling relieved as many men would, he feels like part of him is missing.  

Today is not the anniversary of our first date.  It's not our wedding anniversary, and it isn't his birthday. But today is still a special day because it's one more day that I get to call him mine.  My love.