He got up and went out into the cold winter’s morning for Donuts. We are together in a new city with our youngest son. We don’t know where the good donuts are so he looked up “donuts near me” on his phone. We debated the names and counted the stars and the number of ratings. Then we made a decision. 4.9 miles away.
After he returned with the donuts, he and I went into the kitchen together and cooked pancakes, eggs, bacon. I washed grapes and heated chi tea. I know how he likes his eggs cooked, how much cheese, how long on the heat. He showed me the donuts he bought with me in mind. We ate our meal together. We laughed together. We touched.
Our family is aging, along with our love.
In 1992, when we headed to MI the first time, we got in the car in DE wearing shorts and tank tops only to discover that August nights in Michigan can be like fall. We were kids, newlywed, bright and in love. New love is great because it elevates and titillates and giggles and tickles and makes us feel alive.
In 2018, we have returned under very different conditions. We have property and kids and cars and jobs as well as nearly 30 years of experiences that run the gambit. We have doctors and lawyers and networks. We have losses and gains, portfolios, and such. We both have winter coats, too, at the ready.
This love here knows something about the cold. And it dares to love regardless.
My husband chose, today, to zip up, hat up, glove up, boot up, to venture out again—providing clear evidence that God still loves this woman.
This post first appeared on Presenting Evidence That God Still Loves Women And Writers, please read the originial post: here