Limestone love

Maybe it’s because snow days kept us kids from the long walk to the bus stop.

Or perhaps it was the way that it made everything seem to stop and settle for a while with roads impassable and driveways covered.

For whatever reason I have always always loved the snow.

Hi friends.

The month of February is chug-chugging along and here we are with more marriage mush than you want in a string of blog posts, but what can I say, I like a theme.

I love sitting and talking with my FIL.

My Father in law had the distinct privilege of enjoying all that is myself as his first in-law.

I remember asking him all kinds of things when I worked in the church office because his door was always open and well, I just thought he always wanted to chat.

Bless him.

He saw the good and the bad and the ugly of those first years and had to be jumping for joy when I was expecting Isaac and left the office to stay home.

Recently as we were siting together (because amazingly we’re still friends) I asked him to give me one really helpful piece of marriage advice he’s been given.

He smiled that smile that says just about as much as what comes next and said, “If you love snow, don’t complain about the cold.”

He leaned back crossed his arms and I knew that posture always brings a real-life example of said quotation.

He went on to explain that the things we love about a person can be the very things that drive us to the point of exasperation.

I wanted to look at him like I had no earthly idea what he was getting at, but he knows me better than that.

I can still push his buttons pass the point of no return but there’s no way to sneak a fast one by him this late in the game.

I tried to soak in exactly what he said to me because it’s truly excellent advice.

If I love the snow, I better love everything that comes with it, because without the cold there’d be no snow.

My husband is calm, cool and collected.

His blood pressure’s so low I’ve thought of starting a “go fund me” for it.

In college when everything was the direct opposite of calm, cool and collected, he was a mystery to me.

He thrived on schedules, yawned at exams and even had hair that was unmovable.

(Side note: when we went back to college for a special event an old collegue of ours cornered my husband and told him that it still bothers him how “perfect” his hair is! Also should be noted that he’s not the only one to have this same comment.)

I find great joy in being the only one to have seen this hair in it’s untidy state, though the first day of our honeymoon, after 30 something Bobby pins were taken from my French twist it was my husband’s freshly washed and towel dried hair standing on end that literally scared this new wife half to death!)

Joel is my rock of Gibraltar.

The cute version.

Pure limestone while I’m more on the sandstone side of things.

He would wear the same button down shirt for his whole life and not care with one of TWO exact same sweaters of course because the man isn’t just “cool” but partly frozen most of the time.

He could eat the same cereal every single morning with a cut banana and honey on it and be as happy as a clam.

He’s such a creature of habit that I know exactly where his socks will be each and every single solitary morning.

Right there next to the bed.

Amazingly a whole four steps away from the laundry chute that leads directly into a dirty clothes hamper that then gets taken to the washer.

So very many years of socks on the floor to then pick up to then wash and put in the drawer to then pick up off the floor.

“The circle of sock life” so to speak.

When the church had the most delightful birthday party for my Sweetheart turning the big 5-0, I found myself standing with dear friends who went on and on about all the things we all love about this man and something deep inside just had to cough OUT LOUD in their presence, “HELEAVESHISSOCKSONTHEFLOOR!” In one big cough I covered with my hand.

Yes, I actually did that.

And yes, it’s still hilarious to me.

And sitting there with my FIL my mind’s photographic memory pulled-up a full-color picture of black socks on the bedroom carpet.

And then I began to think of all of my sandstone ways.

How I use tea bags over and over until they have finally given up the ghost because tea water should barely be brown, and quite possibly may have just used a knee-high to strain loose tea because it works so amazingly well.

How I leave socks IN the bed when I get cold and hot and then cold and hot once again in one night’s time, leaving little bumps in the bottom of the bed.

How my hair hasn’t had two consecutive days with the same strands deciding to do the same thing like ever, and most days my husband has to pat some down that insist on just sticking STRAIGHT UP.

How I was offered the gift of taking one real-deal leather bag home from Italy and when I gleaminly handed my dear “navy” husband the HOT PINK one I chose he schokingly choked out, “OH! Really? THIS……. ONE?” And then forked over cash for it.

Did we score DEVASTATINGLY LOW on the personality test when finding out which personalities should be working together?

Yup.

Should we even live on the same street according to this test’s findings?

Nope.

But here’s the thing.

We both love the snow.

I love this man of mine.

This limestone fella with his limestone hair and limestone faith.

And because I love this man and his limestone ways, I choose to love picking up his socks and thank the Lord for feet that care about the gospel getting to this whole wide world.

And (gulp) somewhere in his limestone heart he loves my sandstone self.

And for that I sure am grateful.