This is a picture of the books on his bedside table. Usually they are stacked higher than this. Most of the time there is at least one commentary in the mix. The one on the bottom is his journal. And in the morning when I make the bed after he has gone to work, I typically put some of them away, back on the shelf to minimize the clutter.
But not today. Today, I noticed them. Consequently, I noticed him.
He likes stories…stories about Jesus, stories about people he knows in real life. But put a fiction book in front of him and he breaks into a cold sweat. He would much rather read a text book than a novel. My dad is like that, too. I so don’t get that. But I have kind of grown to really love that about him. I’m not sure why.
So this is me, remembering just one of the many reasons why I fell in love with him.
Happy birthday, my love.