My husband Steve does two things consistently that would keep me desperately in love with him even if he were an inconsiderate slob. (Note I did not say “abusive.” That’s too far over the line for me.)
Last Saturday we went to the dedication of a new church building in Bedford, Indiana. The old one, where Steve’s family always worshiped, burned two years ago. Steve spoke on “Beauty for Ashes,” and compared the building and the church to the phoenix rising from the ashes to be better than ever. He did a great job and I was very proud of him.
And true to form, later, he said to me, “I’m always proud to have you with me. You were the best-looking woman there!” And he says it with such pride and confidence that, amazingly, I know he really means it.
The second thing is that he says I am so much smarter than he is. He doesn’t say it in that way people sometime have of saying it so you’ll disagree and compliment them. Instead, he slides it into conversation as a matter of fact. “I love being married to a woman that’s smarter than I am,” he’ll say, giving an account of something we’ve done together. And he gives advice to young men: “Marry a woman that’s smarter than you, like I did. You’ll never regret it.”
Now these are clearly his opinions, not necessarily fact. But his believing them so devoutly are two of the most endearing characteristics of my husband of 46 years today.