I love my wife. We were joined in holy matrimony ten years ago today. I’ve been feeling retrospective, introspective, and extrospective about it all week. By all week, I mean every day for the last decade. (Time accuracy isn’t really my thing.) Sometimes I imagine histories where she said “no” or I never asked or we never met. I love me some thought experiments, but that one I don’t care for much.
My wife is an amazing woman. Our marriage has been the greatest blessing and gift. When I hear the young scholars I spend my days with say that synonyms are pointless and that we should just have one word for everything, I think about how easy and (incomplete) a description of my wife would be. She is pretty and smart and good at things and makes most things better. There you go. Done. Finished. But no. There’s so much more.
At the end of the Gospel of John, he writes that Jesus did a lot of things that weren’t recorded in his book, or anywhere else. And:
If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.
I appreciate my wife, our marriage, and all the things that are so deep and dynamic that to truly to describe them would take blocks of ultimately incomplete libraries.
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