My wife holds our family together.
She knows everyone we owe bills to, when they’re due and how to haggle to make sure our lights are lit and our water hot. I can’t stress this point enough: Without my wife the four boys (including me) would be naked, starving, in the dark and cold.
She understands our children, knows their particular little needs, how to talk to them when they’re grumpy or sassy or hyper. She can look at them for one second and know when they had a bad day at school. I usually have no idea.
She puts up with me. I can’t stress this point enough: I am a hard man to live with. Stubborn, demanding, oblivious, occasionally insensitive, impulsive and petulant. And yet she sees right past all that and loves me anyway. Part of that is my looks, I know, but part of it too is how incredibly gracious, patient, and committed she is.
Today is her birthday and this will be our of hers that we celebrate together. I can’t imagine any other woman who could put up with thirteen birthdays with me I’d rather spend them with. She’s how I know there’s a God, because I asked for a woman who was just perfect for me, and for thirteen years she’s been exactly that. I expect she’ll continue to be exactly that when we’re old(er) and grey(er).
Solomon once asked, rhetorically, who could find a virtuous woman (Proverbs 31:10). I don’t know about the rest of you, but the answer is “me.” Solomon had way too many wives (and way too many mothers-in-law, but I digress), so I guess he struggled finding the right one. Not me. I found her and she turns 34 today.
God bless her, because without her I think the roof might cave in.
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