Eleven

I was 18 years old when I met Mark. He was 24. I was the campus pastor's step-daughter, and let's just say Mark was pretty brave to pursue me. My parents were a hard sell when it came to their daughter's hand.

I was young; and my list of "qualifications" for a suitor was fairly short:
-He must love Jesus.
-He must share my values (most importantly to me: that he would desire children and support my desire to be a stay-at-home mom).
-He must be faithful, honest, and full of integrity. (All characteristics that my biological father desperately lacked. I had very real fears and needed to know that I could trust him implicitly).
-Finally, he must be handsome.

He was all of these things. And as we dated, I saw in him so much more:

He cared little for things, but loved people.
He quickly became my best friend.
He was a servant.
He had a heart for missions.
He had a heart for the orphans.
He loved his own family and had good family relationships.
He was compassionate.
He always saw the best in everyone, and gave everyone the benefit of the doubt.
He worked hard.
He was generous.
He was thoughtful.
I could write a book on the romantic ways he courted me- flowers practically every other day, notes and cards and signs, elaborate dates, etc. He truly won my heart.
He was kind; he spoke well of everyone.
He was not easily angered.
He was patient.
He respected my opinions.
He thought I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on.
He liked me, then loved me, just the way that I was.
He thought I was funny.
He was funny.
He was pure.
He was the most selfless man I'd ever met.
He was intelligent and well-read.
He loved children and maybe more importantly-- they loved him. At the time I had two little brothers that adored him, and he was the favored uncle of his nephews.
He was never hasty to speak; he carefully considered his words before he spoke.
He was insightful when it came to God's word.
He had solid guy friends.
He gladly set aside all of his friends-that-were girls as soon as we started officially dating.
He loved me more through his actions than his words.
He was goofy. He played crazy music and danced silly just to make me laugh.
He honored me.
He was frugal with his money, but didn't hesitate to be a generous gift-giver.
He encouraged me -and helped me- in all of my endeavors.
He drove out to the bookstore where I worked every single night, for years. I closed the store alone; he wanted to be sure I was safe and gave me a ride home each night.
He liked playing board games and doing puzzles.
He cared about the things- and people- I cared about.
He was a good listener.
He wasn't afraid to cry.
He was a good writer.
He respected authority.
He liked my friends.

All of these things- and those I haven't mentioned-made me sure of him. When he asked me to marry him, I happily said yes. I'm so glad I did.

Eleven years ago today we were married.

I am daily thankful for God's gift of Mark to me. Mark still is all of the above things. And each year since he has given me more reasons to love him.

Happy Anniversary, beloved husband.

[*I had planned to add some of our wedding pictures to this post but our scanner isn't working. Sorry for the photo-less post.]