Isn't He Lovely?

Psalm 108:4
4 For great is your love, higher than the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies.


I was fifteen years old in 1982. Sitting in our church fellowship hall wearing a yellow and white gingham dress at a graduation party. He walked into the party like he was walking on to a yacht, wait no; that’s not right.
He did walk into the party though. He was playing in a Southern Gospel group, just home from a “singin’” and unloading equipment. He had a buddy at the party, a friend of mine. He came over to say hi to his friend. He was wearing a burgundy Members Only jacket, Sergio Valente jeans and brown boat shoes. Oh yeah.
I had braces, he had braces. I was “dating” (ie holding hands in church with) another boy. Didn’t matter. I knew I’d marry him. Nice information to have tucked away. That was June.
In October that other boy had dumped me and was no longer holding my hand in church. Loser. I decided to host the youth group’s Halloween party and invite him. Actually, the rest of those kids got on my nerves but love bears all things. Fifty kids later I was getting a stomach ache and sick of those kids. He wasn’t there.
I was dressed as a punk rocker. OK, that was basically an excuse to wear a mini skirt to woo him with my womanly wiles. He showed up late. He was wearing Sergio Valente jeans, a gray Members Only shirt and a weird mask thing. He was aloof but he was there. That was Friday night.
On Sunday his friend asked me during Sunday School if he could pass my phone number on to Mr. Sergio Valente-too-cool-for-the-room. I squealed and said with great dignity, “Uh, I guess.” I waited. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. I am going to die. Thursday. I’m going to bed at 7:00, my life is over. 7:30 the phone rang. My mom came into my room. It was him. He was going away with the group for the weekend. Would I want to hang out at the mall Friday after school for a while before he left? “Uh, I guess.”
He didn’t hold my hand. I walked around that stupid mall for two hours with my hand hanging at my side like a freak so he could easily slide it into his. He didn’t. That was Friday November 7, 1982. He took me home, walked me to the door and left. No kiss good bye. I was willing to be a little fast with him. No dice.
Monday he called at 7:30. Turns out that was what time he got home from work. He called every night at 7:30. Time stood still until 7:30. We started talking about how soon was too soon to “go together”. We wondered when we could say “I love you.” I loved him way before he walked into that graduation party, I just didn’t have a face or a name for my love. We decided a few weeks was enough. November 19, 1982 we went to the Fairlane Movies. We sat in his old rust colored Monte Carlo with the white vinyl interior and he asked me to “go with him”. It was a no-brainer. I was long gone. He kissed me.
He graduated in 1983. He gave me an engagement ring in April of 1985 and I graduated that June. He worked for his mom and dad and made no money. We got married in October of 1986. He got a job at Ford and we had a baby in 1988. We had another baby in 1989. We fought. I cried. He sulked. I needed him. He tuned me out. I yelled. He disappeared. Two little boys played on the floor.
He told me he didn’t love me Thanksgiving Day 1990. He told me he was through in April of 1992. I told him I’d raise his sons to hate him. I meant it. I hated him. I loved him. I hated him more than I loved him.
He prayed and I raged. I prayed and he raged. God heard. He caught us back from the edge. He talked us down from the ledge. God saved the home of the two little boys who played on the floor.
He came home from work on April 25 1992 and said he loved me. First time in two years. I cried and wanted to believe. We both cried and started back toward each other.
In 2004 I graduated from nursing school with him sitting in the audience.
I love him.
When I can’t sleep at night I lay next to him and think of innumerable slow dances we’ve shared...proms, weddings, Firemen's Balls, impromptu in the living room.
When I can’t believe he believes for me and we make it through.
When I can’t take another step he carries me.
When we’re out of money he hides it from me so I won’t worry.
He puts gas in my truck every week.
He gets me Applebee’s salads when I don’t want to eat the dinner I’ve cooked because the raw meat grossed me out.
This morning at 5:30 he sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through my hair while we talked about the backed up drains in the basement. He told me to bundle up, it’s cold out there. He kissed me on the mouth even though I hadn’t brushed my teeth. Nothing about me is ugly to him.
Meet the Mr., my husband. My Dean.
He is the proof in my life that God’s love reaches to the heavens and that His faithfulness stretches to the sky.
I am Mrs. Dean Smith.
Happy Valentines Day.