Ten years.

As Momma mentioned in Monday’s post, today is the 10th anniversary of the night that Brian and I met.  

I never – and I mean NEVER – could have dreamed when we met at WalMart that this guy hitting on me would be the father of my child one decade later.

Obviously that’s not all that Brian is, but the “baby-daddy” role had long sense been reserved for only the most special man.

*pausing to marvel a bit*

I don’t believe that there’s a nook or cranny in my life where Brian hasn’t made a mark.

• He’s taught me how to relax and live in a moment.
• And he’s taught me the rules to football.  (Over and over and over…)
• When I get confused by the news, he breaks it down for me in terms that make sense.
• He reminds me that I’m beautiful, especially in lip gloss.
• He navigates for me.
• He makes up songs and sings to himself when he thinks nobody’s listening.  Sometimes he incorporates a fake accent.
• He taught me what a basset hound was.

• He’s held the 2nd mirror up for me to see the back of my head when I’ve wanted to trim my own hair.
• Brian usually is responsible for the morning coffee.  Sometimes I feel like I’d cease to exist without that.
• Brian has installed hooks for my bathrobes, assembled furniture, changed countless lightbulbs, installed fans and shower heads, scheduled all house and car maintenance, indulged my Christmas mania, tolerated my sneaky vegetable purees in countless dinners and surrendered half of his closet space to me.
• Brian has demonstrated meekness and humility, love and generosity, strength and reliability and exactly what would happen if a man died to himself that the Lord might breathe new life into him.

I’ve heard people scoff at the term “born again.”  Pfffffff.  Nothin’ to scoff at.  I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  It’s incredible.