Yes, it’s already evening on the east coast and I haven’t written since Thursday. But, despite my failures at posting, it’s never too late to celebrate Thankful Tuesday.
Today I want to speak gratefully about the life of my main squeeze, aka spouse, aka father of my child: the always dapper Christopher Hohorst, who finally joined me this past Sunday in the realm of the thirties. (I have to admit I love going into ages 10 months ahead of the man, getting that year sorted out and cushioning the blow for him.) Thirty for Chris is not the big deal age it is for most of us. I’m saving his massive celebration for number 34, the year he is sure a man reaches the pinnacle of manness. In other words, it’s the point when the strength and beauty of the young man connects with the wisdom and experience of the older man, resulting in the most awesome age ever (at least that’s my description of his theory).
Who in the world thinks or talks about something like that? We do. Which is one of the reasons we were both a little stunned when we first met at that Cornell acappella concert (Yes, acappella. I’m not kidding). It’s also the reason we laugh as much as we do. The fact that there could be any two people more giddy to have found each other, more in tune with each other’s humor and weird thinking, and more opposite in life situations, continues to astound me every time I look at my husband of six years and say: Where did you come from?
Chris should have met a brunette, Northeastern Ivy League debate champ who knew how to wear pearls at all the proper occassions. Instead he got me: An Old Navy clad graduate of a West Texas Baptist college, who had never tasted an ounce of fine cheese in my lifetime. That Chris would marry a Texan, especially a Texan whose go-to response to life situations is to break into song at inappropriate times, is not only miraculous, but wonderful. We were both prejudiced towards each other’s life descriptors when we met and we’re both richer knowing the other.
- At the wedding we attended in Philly Sunday night, when (miracle of all miracles!) a Garth brooks song was played, he two-stepped with me with all his heart. In fact, we were the only couple there who knew how to two-step and he did it with all the earnestness of a Yankee in love with a Texan…which is better than all those smooth dancing boys I knew in college.
- I’m thankful for what Chris has taught me about how to love fine things because they are a gift from God. I don’t mean expensive things. I mean things of value. My husband constantly teaches me about recognizing and valuing good friends. He teaches me how to eat great food with abandon, thankful for the joy of tasting and savoring. He teaches me that good style can be a beautiful as good music and good writing. And he teaches me how to enjoy beautiful moments with people for what they are…
- I’m thankful he’s taught this performance-obsessed Christian that following Jesus is the farthest thing from an accomplishment to be checked off a list. Loving Jesus cannot be measured or counted—something I knew but didn’t believe until I met him and saw it lived out. I continue to be encouraged by his authentic, committed life of faith.
- Did I mention that the closer he gets to thirty-four, the deeper his handsomeness runs? I can’t wait for his silver hair.