Thirteen years ago, I married Bray.
This extraordinary man who built a home and family with me over these years.
The one with whom I have traveled from Canada to Hawaii and from the farm to the ranch. Who I fought with and made up with and faced health scares with and attended hundreds of kids sporting events with and kissed goodnight for thousands of nights.
He is utterly imperfect as am I and our kids, but we fight to make our family work and we love each other fiercely.
The caption on the back side of our wedding thank you notes read, John Deere Republican, Urbanite Democrat, Newlyweds. Politics have changed in the world around us over these years and we’re no longer newlyweds, but we’re still salt and pepper. Completely different but strong together.
This year, our kids are nine.
We’re in our 40s. That oh-so-busy-season.
Our parents are all in their 70s and we’re so thankful the kids have these grandparents who love them and teach them things.
We have all our extended family and a bevy of incredible friends that feel like family.
I learn more about this man every year.
I still dream about kissing him when I’m away.
And while I have no idea what this year holds, a fact for which I am grateful, I do know I get to find out with him. We have a front row seat to see it unfold together.
I pray that 13 years from now, it’s still his green eyes I see first thing in the morning and his hand I get to hold walking down the street.
I can’t even imagine it, that day in the future 13 years from now when the kids are no longer under our roof and who knows what we’ll be doing with our days, but he is the one thing I see there.
My fixed point on the horizon.