What My Dad Said About My Husband

It was about a month ago, I believe.  It was just after 4 o’clock and I expected Charlie to walk in from school any minute.  The girls were playing in the living room and since Chad had worked through the night during a snow storm, he was home, as well.

I walked by the front window and looked out to see Charlie walking up the long hill toward our house.  His eight year old body looked so tiny as he trekked up the hill toward home.  The bus typically drops him off right in front of our driveway, so I was confused.

 Charlie’s walking up the hill, I called out to Chad.
What? he responded as he made his way to the window. 
I wonder why she didn’t come up the road, I said to him.  Apparently, though, Chad lost interest because he had disappeared.

I stood and watched Charlie’s tiny frame walk ever so slowly up the long hill while swinging his lunch box back and forth beside his body.  It was a really cold day and I could see evidence of Charlie’s breath floating up through the air.  In fact, I believe the temperature barely surpassed zero that day.  I felt so bad for my little guy, but helpless to do anything. 

That’s when I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. 

Out on the street, I watched as Chad, clothed only in a t-shirt, pants and slippers ran down the hill toward Charlie.  I watched as he greeted Charlie and took his backpack in one hand and lunchbox in the other.  I watched as he coaxed Charlie to run up the hill toward our house.  And I watched as Charlie and Chad ran up to the house, laughing, together.   As I saw the scene play before me I smiled and said to no one in particular,  he’s an exceptional man.

And he is.  My husband is an exceptional man. 

The thing about exceptional men, though, is that they are (often) humble.  Very humble. They live unheralded lives.  Lives of honor and integrity.  Lives that go unnoticed, except for those of us who know them, and know them well.

I’m sure that Chad would rather I not write this yearly post.  I’m sure he’d rather me keep my blog focused on my absent-mindedness and our silly stories. But I just can’t help myself.  Men like Chad need to be celebrated, even if only on my little blog.

(But Chad?  I promise, I will be brief.)

Several months ago the five of us were visiting my Dad.  The kids had gone down for the night and Chad had just headed upstairs to sleep. My dad and I were left alone at the kitchen table where we discussed everything from politics to life. During that conversation the topic somehow turned to Chad and my Dad said something  that I will never forget. 

In that moment my Dad looked me in the eye and pointed his finger toward the upstairs where Chad slept and said this. . .

Summer, you couldn’t have written a more perfect script for your life.

My dad is right. 

This man who I am so thankful to call my husband, is one of the greatest gifts I will ever have in my life. . .

Chad,

From the bottom of my heart and with all the love I have in me, Thank You. 

Thank you for being a protector and an encourager.  For being strong and still gentle.  Thank you for laughing with me (and at me) and for helping me find my way.  Thank you for knowing when to walk ahead of me and when to lag behind.  But more than anything, Chad, thank you for walking beside me.  Thank you for believing in me and for believing in us. Thank you for challenging me to grow and for growing with me. 

Chad, I could list the good things about you all day long.  (Those closest to me know I’m not exaggerating.) However, I know you don’t want that.  So let me just say this.  Chad, thank you for being the kind of man I hope Charlie grows into and for showing Chanelle and Meadow, every single day, to never settle for less than they deserve.

I am so proud to be your wife.

What my Dad said is true.  Chad, I couldn’t have written a better
script.  And while I celebrate you everyday, today, on your
birthday, I’m  just a little louder about it. 

I love you. 

We love you.

Happy Birthday.

And Kim and Char, I want to say something to you, as well.  Thank you.  Thank you for raising a man who puts first things first.  Thank you for raising an exceptional man.

(And just one more thing.  When I asked Charlie why the bus dropped him off at the bottom of this hill he said this. . . I was afraid it would be icy and I wasn’t sure it was safe for the bus.)

Yep, he’s growing up to be just like you.