Our love is an adventure. One that God orchestrated.
It began as an adventure: meeting in Bolivia, driving in a bus loaded down with luggage, leaning too close for comfort to the edge, seeing missions first hand, seeing a dense jungle, and people sleeping under tarps tied to banana trees, and eating cow utter. Yes, cow utter. It tasted like a sponge. It tasted nothing like chicken. Thanks for asking.
Many Valentine’s Days ago, you sent me a three-page handwritten letter asking if a guy like you could ever have a chance with a girl like me. You took the risk and poured your heart out. And the fact that it arrived on February 14th was all God. That letter kick started the adventure. One that in 16 moves brought us all over the world, and back again.
The adventure included long waits in the doctor’s office, wondering what the protocol would be after another failed attempt at IVF. It included nerve-wracking flights and trips on ferries to get to our home in the village, in the southern region of Senegal. It’s included “in sickness and in health”, lessons on being the first to apologize, the first to forgive, and the relationship bonding power of making fun of each other.
The adventure has included dodging tear gas, (many) language faux pas, mountains, beaches, and volcanoes.
Today it includes two beautiful daughters who you call Buddy and Spike. (Which I think is so adorable because they sound like two bikers you met downtown as opposed to two sweeties in matching heart pajamas.)
The adventure looks different now. It’s one we fought hard for. It’s showing one girl how to use a spoon, while swaddling another. It’s one of less sleep (no rest for the with kid) and one of diapers and feedings and so much joy. It’s an adventure we wouldn’t trade for anything.