When I think about my Colombian born husband, I think about how much I love him, how much I need him, and how I'm so thankful that God gave him to me.
We live in a little apartment in the suburbs where we go to work everyday, we watch tv everynight, and we go to church every sunday. Its so typical of suburban life in more ways than I can count. Its not bad, its just so American.
The crazy thing is that I forget that he's not American. This isn't his culture, we don't speak his native tongue, and he would never, could never feel as at home here as in Colombia. When I really think about that, let it soak in, I am blown away by the magnitude of what this means. He left absolutely everything that was familiar to him, everything that he loved, for little ole me. The depth of love he has shown me through these actions alone, is unfathomable. How do you ever repay someone who has gone to such lengths as to cross the ocean for you? It truely is a personified love song. I've come to the conclusion that all I can do is accept the love extended and return it the best I can.
As I read through the paragraphs I just wrote, I am immediately reminded of an even bigger love story, a story of a carpenter who left his rightful place at the right side of the Almighty God to live and them ultimately die for little ole us. Glory to God that there was a ressurection morning or there would have been no one to thank for my wonderful husband!
