I love how much you love cranberry sausage, rare tuna burgers, chocolate milk, pink lady sushi rolls (dipped in sinus-draining sauces) and HUGE Pub Subs. In retrospect, I love how long it takes prepare your food just right with all your add-ons that shouldn’t blend together. I love how focused you get on the menu and how you try to hide your complete frustration at me grabbing and picking at your food. all.the.time. I love that you memorize my candy spectrum and try to speak your love lanaaguage with me by bringing me chicken biscuits, even when you try on Sundays:)
I love our holy-rub. I’ve needed you to protect me and show me that I am a lady, and you exceeded my craziest “Open Window” imaginings. You trickily show me my shy self and the parts of me that I fight like hell to keep hidden.
I love that you can see when I am not focused and stressing and planning and controlling even when I think I am being a pro hidding it behind all my talk. I love that you are learning not to believe my words.
I love how you patiently teach me to run, squat and “dead-bug” in the botans. I love how gently you push me to do new things, even if I am shy and scared and a complete ass-hole most of the time because I have to hide my “I don’t knows” behind a hard exterior. I love watching you frisbee, or swing at the Botans, or play basketball or concentrate so hard on balancing on a slack line . I love that me watching you do those things makes you that much more driven to show off:) I love you behind me guiding me at the rock-climbing wall, even if I am so uncomfortable with your instruction during the climb.In general, everything about your leadership makes me extremely uncomfortable, but please never stop. I might kick and scream and use my words against you, but it’s just what I need. I need you. I need to go higher, even if my two feet are both on one small rock. I need you to show me how to use all of myself to get to the edge.
I love how you declare things over me when you pray for me. I love your authority in the Kingdom, and how God has given you the place to command angels and to break down walls. I love that you do care about just the one, and that your bravely go to places for one little Enselmo with red and blue crocs…
I love when you declare with your actions first and then words later, “you are worthy,” “you are free,” “you should share.” Your leadership is dead on and I am slowly learning to get out of your way, and I love when I don’t even have a chance when you lock me intto bathtubs with nothing but a journal, Bible and Dr. Pepper.
I’m sorry for when I compete or fight with you about the stupid stuff like how far away lightning strikes from the center of a storm or if the dog hair in my car is woven into the fabric. I’m sorry I interrupt your stories because I think your telling them to slow. . I’m sorry I always am too impatient just to wait one more day or one more hour, before you can even ask me on our first date. I am sorry that I steal your car when you take too long in a grocery story or refuse to wait even twenty minutes when you need to make a phone call. Yes, you do move like an inchworm and I am a tornado but at the end of the day, I am sure you always driving these last three years has meant a lot less speeding tickets for me.
I love how sometimes you have no idea that the lady in front of you is pissed your standing too close at the ATM, and other times you can get such seering prophecies over a birthday girl you’ve never met. I love that somehow you don’t hear my speak a full sentence because you are so deeply focused on something that was said five minute ago and sometimes you hear even the little angsty comments I make under my breath.
I love how you give bear hugs to everyone but especially black kids on baketball courts, or a bartender who everyone else wants to tear down.
I love how you always go to my cardoor to open it for me, even though you’ll never learn you can’t unlock my door from the passsenger side. I love your fierce loyalty and usually I love your jealousy over me. I love that when strange men come knocking at the door despite Roxxy barks, that you are right behind me so I don’t have to say a word to them. I LOVE that when I open my cardoor into a jail warden’s car that you are there to handle the situation and prove my innocents in practical ways.
I love that you support every dream and plan and crazy desire I have even though they change on the daily.
I love when you make-fun of me for my comments & my awkward gestures. I even love it when you lose your patience with me and are completely honest and sarcastic.
Most of all, I love that when I can finally pry open my heart long enough for you to see in, that you hold me and speak so gently and yet so assuringly that all my doubts about us and about life dissolve and bring us so close together in a field behind El Azteca.
I love the way you watch my every move in a rear-view mirror and that you make me feel beautiful every day. I love dressing up for you and pretending I want to take my dress off (to change into shorts), when really I just like watching you fight for me to keep on my pretty-girl-clothes l0nger.
I love that you cry when I send you a text message thrilled about a sermon I just heard from Bethel. I love that you love when I am painting or writing or doing anything that excites me and the Holy Spirit. I love how you watch me make brush strokes on Khadija cheeks, and tell me you love a girl you never met because I love her. I love how you can give me advice on shading and minimalistic noses and that you red my Magnum Opi all summer when youre on another continent. You encourage my creativity, and it gives me excuses to do the things I breath-to-do.
Judge, I hope you know on your 25th birthday that you are more than my protector, my lawn-mower, my snuggle buddy and even my best friend. You are the person I want to be with every day, even to the detriment of my bank account, my gas tank and my sanity. You are worth the 2.5 hour drive in rush hour, you are worth staying up late on the floral couch or in the backyard in Carr St for hours. You are the person I am afraid to make eye-contact with at times and the person I get dressed up for everyday.
Your my man, and I am so happy to follow you wherever.
Happy Birthday, love!