Formerly The Brown Bungalow, this blog has changed names to reflect my new location in the deep South. We are leaving the Columbines for Magnolias; donating wooly socks to buy sandals; pouring out the hot beverages to sip iced tea; and building sand castles instead of snowmen.
He was seventeen years old when we found each other in our church youth group. The first time he sat beside me on a pew before going to our separate Bible study classes, he played nervously with a rubber band while trying to make conversation with me. I was the new girl in youth group and he was new to dating. I liked him for being genuine and not full of himself.
It was a few weeks before he gathered up enough courage to ask me to a movie while on the same day I invited him to join my family on a picnic in the mountains. As it turned out, we did both on the same day, for one very long date. But in looking back, it was fitting because our life ever since then has been one long romance.
Today that once shy seventeen-year old is celebrating the birthday that introduces him to Medicare and the countdown to retirement. The years have been full of travel, adventure, achievement, and an ever-growing family beyond his wildest expectations.
Beloved is one of those people who has almost always been sort of "grown up." The dynamics of his childhood were such that he could either have made some really awful life choices or he could see things for what they really were and figure out how to move past the negatives. He chose the latter. I can't help but think there must have been some family member, perhaps a couple of aunts, who prayed for him hard and often.
One of his favorite sayings is "Common sense isn't." Beloved was blessed with plenty of it and I have been hugely blessed for spending all of my adult life with him.
We were both only twenty years old when we got married eighteen months before his college graduation, against the preferences of our parents. But he had already demonstrated to the folks that he had a lot going for him, and as if to prove it, he got even better grades after our wedding than before.
One of his parents died only six months into our marriage, and the other passed nine years later. Before he was thirty years old, he was without both of them. He executed their estates, made some smart choices about what they had left behind, and many were blessed in the years to come as a result.
With this brief biography of my husband, I am reminded that the most handsome guy with the coolest car is absolutely no indication of how happy a gal can be married to him. That nerdy guy behind the black-rimmed glasses who carried a briefcase to classes turned out to be a real gem of a husband.