A Thank You Letter to My Husband (A Blog Hijack)

B,

I vowed to you on our wedding day that I would always be by your side, and somehow it was the easiest and hardest commitment I've made.  I love you, and there was no question in my mind that I want to spend every day with you.  But with our families and histories in two different places, I thought that day that I might never live near my family again.

You told me you didn’t know where Michigan was before meeting me.  But you asked questions about my hometown, and you were eager to visit and meet my family that winter of 2010.  You took a sip of Lake Michigan when you first met the lakeshore and you were shocked to taste no salt.  You made my friends and I laugh when you ice-skated on top of Muskegon Lake while shouting “I’m Apolo Ohno!”

And then you hugged me when I told you I got the job in Michigan.  You were open to moving, you were excited for me, you were ready.  You sacrificed your job, living near your family and friends, living two blocks from the ocean, playing in your band, surfing, and the city you’ve called “home” for the past nine years.  You had to say good-bye to your brother, your best friend.  Then you were welcomed to Michigan with people asking, “Are you crazy?  Have you ever been in winter here?” 

Brendan, I am in awe of your strength and determination.  You are a go-getter and you have a positivity that can paint anything yellow - with daisies.  I smiled when I saw a new library book opened on the dresser.  Now, you’re learning photography.  Two weeks ago, you were reading about gardening, and now we have a fifteen by twenty foot vegetable garden in the backyard.  One day you had the idea to make an adirondack chair for our back porch, and three days later it was complete. 

You’re constantly dreaming, and your dreams are centered around seeing God’s Kingdom on earth.  You humble me and constantly inspire me to trust in God.  You know more local businesses and community happenings than residents who have lived here their whole lives, and I’m almost certain you know more people in this town than I do now.   I love your excitement about seeing our neighborhood improve, and I love having to slowly drive down our street because you and the neighborhood boy are playing football in the front yard.  I loved the four seasons before, but sharing them with you has been a joy because you have a sharper eye for beauty. 

To say thank you for moving to Michigan is simply not enough.  You’ve not just moved and sacrificed, but you’ve thrived despite starting from scratch.  Thank you for making our home hospitable, thank you for loving our neighbors, and thank you for supporting my work by listening to me every night over dinner.  Thank you for embracing winter and shoveling our driveway without complaining once.  Thank you for asking for my dad’s help in making wood projects and for having the kind of relationship with my parents where you feel comfortable stopping over at their house any time.  Thank you for taking the time to notice each season, for learning the street names, for looking forward to extended family events, and for loving my friends. You have given me a great gift by allowing me to share with you the place I grew up, with so many of the people I love.  One of the greatest gifts you could have ever given me.

With love and gratitude,

Rachel  

Hints of It

When I think of springtime, scenes from Bambi immediately come to mind. One day it's winter, the next day it rains, and the third day everything is green, the butterflies are swarming, the birds are swooping and playing after each other, and flowers are constantly opening to the bright sun drying up all the rain in a rising mist. Spring is not like that. It's slow. The snow over the winter almost perfectly preserves everything from fall. And when it slowly melts with the rain, you'd think it was fall. But with watchfulness you might catch hints of it (and listening you might begin to hear it): Spring.

yellow. purple. green. orange.

Rototilled

photo credit: Mike McClenahan

Through our front window I saw the red, busted, rust-laden pickup pull up to the curb outside of our house with a disjointed green trailer full of equipment tugging along behind. Throwing on my coat and shoes, I sprung out the door into the sunshine and brisk air. The robins were out, picking worms from the soil.

"Jim!" I greeted him as he walked up my driveway, wheeling behind him a bent up rototiller (it's funny how a man can be so much like his truck) which he stood in the middle of my back lawn.

"You just tell me where," he said, his brow wrinkled and eyes wide, almost like he was speaking to a foreigner, "and I'll do it." We filled the gas reservoir and with a number of strokes the small engine sputtered and growled.

A few days ago, I shared with my neighbor, Marcy, that I wanted to plant a garden just off my back porch. I wanted to grow potatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, jalapeños, strawberries, thyme, cilantro,