Megan Turns 33

Megan's thirty-third birthday is today, and it comes after a doozy of a Thanksgiving "break," as our youngest has been in the hospital here in Pittsfield, IL, since Thanksgiving night with pneumonia. We're hoping to bring her home (to Grandma and Grandpa's, that is) this afternoon/evening, and maybe even make it back to St. Louis on Monday, but at this point we're not holding our breath.

But that's not the point of this post.

I took this picture of Megan a couple of months ago when we were here for the Griggsville Apple Festival. While you can't tell it from the picture, she's sitting in the middle of the chaos of our Apple Jacks float amongst our four little ones as well as my sisters' kiddos (two each for a total of four), and this shot represents as well as any the quiet and gentle spirit within her (not to mention her fierce commitment to her family and what we sometimes require).

Most people have no idea how absolutely lost and lonely I would be in this life without Megan. I cannot imagine going through so much of what we have (especially in the past year-and-a-half and our move to St. Louis) with anyone else - she has been more supportive, more flexible, more committed, more loving, and more gracious than I ever deserve. Truly, I married well.

One of Megan's closest friends in Colorado once told me that the thing she respected most about Megan was that she had never, ever heard Megan criticize me in public. After almost ten years (as of next month) of marriage, this is a remarkable accomplishment to me, as well as a tribute to her impeccable character and relentless love.

She is a great wife and mother who also happens to be a talented writer, a gifted seamstress, a skilled cook, a warm lover, and a consummate companion without whom I would be the worse for wear. She is the Eve to my Adam; the Scully to my Mulder. And today she adds another year of wisdom to her well-lived life and teaches me every day about faith, hope, and love.

Happy birthday, Crazy. I love you.