Which just makes me happy
I laugh. “If it pours,” I say, “I’m going back. Turning around and running.” The Mister, he’s done it before. Run the road in the pouring rain, shoes squishing, clothes all soaking wet.
“You’ll be fine,” he says, all relaxed and casual like. Thinking, but not saying, “Why’s this girl fussin’?”
What a week it’s been. Two days ago, a crazy-big number. Twenty-five. Twenty-five years since I said, “I do,” and he said, “I do,” and we did. And then there were six.
Six with his last name. Five with his blue eyes. Four with my double crown. Five “him’s,” one “her.” In 25 years.
This morning, on a gray, drippy, chilly day, these numbers, they make me happy. Happy and thankful. Happy that we’ve made it, and thankful that we’ve more than made it.
“It’s so nice,” I say, looking at his blue eyes, “that we still really like each other.” And we do. Oh, goodness, we do.
Happy for love that lasts. Happy for walks every evening. Happy for boys, all four. Happy for so many things today…
Things like juicy, red tomatoes growing in the garden. For fresh blueberry pies and my bounce in the polls from the owners of all those teeth.
Happy for the friends I call and text, not hiding warts and messes. Happy for campfires, drought delayed. For books read fireside to a small boy on my lap. Happy, seeing marshmallows browning; seeing faces a-shining, smiles turning sticky from the grahams and ‘mallows and chocolate.
In spite of exhaustion. In spite of trial. In the face of struggle and hardship and testing, there’s joy, still, to be found. Joy, and reasons for happiness.
Perhaps the greatest one, I’m learning, is finding that in all seasons; in drought or rain, in famine or plenty, I have a Father. I’m not an orphan. I have a Father, and He’s got it covered. And that makes me very happy.