Ruth Stoops

I fell in love with Layne snowshoeing on the top of a mountain.  He dug me a seat and laid out a delicious picnic in the bright winter sun.  A million butterflies hatched in my stomach.

But that *love* doesn’t compare to places down the road.  Maybe I fell in love with him when he held my hand in the waiting room, the day I confronted my illness and was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.

No…maybe it was when he knelt down (hard to do in a carriage), asked me to be his wife and exploded my world with joy.

Or was it three years ago, today?  When I looked into his teary eyes and listened to his promise to love me…cherish me…respect me, for the rest of his life.

Maybe it was sometime during the first year of marriage.  Making up from a fight, experimenting in the kitchen, figuring out how to live out our vows.

Or when we lost our first baby.  We had to figure out how to put our lives back together, piece by piece.  Maybe that’s when I really fell in love with him.

I fell in love with him as he walked through labor with me, breathing, encouraging, believing.

I saw him hold our son for the first time with such wonder.  Such pride.  I fell in love with him then.

Every time I think my love for him has maxed out, I am caught off guard.  I cannot imagine how large this love will grow.  I am blown away by its depth, its richness, its strength.  Every storm we weather affirms its merit.  This man is a pillar of hope,  light, and joy in my life.  I am blessed to know him, let alone be chosen by him.  He is good, honest, and trustworthy.  His compassionate heart and sharp mind bless people every day and I am proud to be his wife.