**I post this one day late because our downstairs neighbors (the ones with the unsecured wireless network) moved out several weeks ago.
One year ago today [yesterday now], I married you. I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever made a better decision. Being your wife has changed me in ways that I can’t always see until I catch a glimpse of who I am juxtaposed with who I used to me and then I just sort of stand there and shake my head because I’m stunned by the difference our being together over this last year has made.
On the outside, we’ve done so much this last year; we got married, you graduated and found a job, I changed jobs twice. There have been moments where I’ve felt more like we’re caught up in a whirlwind than anything else. And yet I don’t think it would seem like so much without the changes that have happened inside.
Most of my life, I’ve been afraid of being left alone. I’ve feared that something big was coming and that I would have deal with it and that I would be all alone, too small, and eventually destroyed. The funny thing is, I didn’t even know that this was what I feared until it came out in our arguments and the ensuing discussions. I didn’t know I was afraid of being alone until I wasn’t anymore. You can’t be all in all to me and I know that. But you’ve been there enough, consistently enough, that I can see how God might be there all the time. You’re my own personal illuminated manuscript, and I love you all the more for it. I’m learning not to be afraid anymore. Thank you, love.
You’ve also helped me to be less afraid to see myself. You’re never horrified, never repulsed when I see yet another thing about myself that is ugly. Sometimes you’re hurt and angry, but I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. When you’re there with me, I can look straight at things that I couldn’t see before. I’m so confident in your love that I can overcome my deep, deep fear of being hopelessly imperfect. In fact, being loved by you is such a privilege and a joy that it’s easier to look at those deep, painful things until I can see them than it is to stuff them under the carpet again. If I don’t look at them, they’ll continue to come out and hurt you. I know that there will be times when I cause you pain, but I’ve learned to choose not to multiply those by not knowing my own heart.
And thus, I stop abruptly. My time has run out, though my heart overfloweth. Trust me, I could go on and on. However, I’ve said the words that are important and the rest you already know. So go. Be well. Take care of yourself.
I love you.