Joining up at the gypsy mama. Yesterday was five minute friday. Five minutes on the word Remember.
Remember when we first met? Remember how I was sort of unhappy to be where I was, and it was obvious to everyone who met me? Remember how you were wearing a yellow pullover? And had a mustache and goatee?
Remember how I used to sit outside under that tree, on that bench, wearing my polka-dotted skirt, drawing in my journal?
Remember how you tried to teach me to play guitar? Remember those long bus rides to la toma? Remember how you tricked me into thinking we were almost to Iquique so I wouldn't get off the bus after 25 hours?
Remember how I greeted you at the airport? Remember how much we fought on the phone before you came? Remember how hard it was to meet everyone at church? Remember how you used to ride the bike to school? Remember how much you hated September?
Remember how much I loved you then? Remember how much I love you still? Do you remember?
I remember how you wrote me notes. I remember how you used to call and hang up, just so your name would flash across the screen on my phone. I remember how you scratched my head that night when I wanted to go home. I remember how you helped me celebrate Christmas and Thanksgiving away from my first family. I remember how you heated up water for me to bathe. I remember.
I remember, and I smile. Because all of these things that I remember, they make me yours. They make you mine. They make us, us.
I like to remember these things. They make me smile.
Sweet hubby, I'm thankful that I listened to God when he said to go, even though I wanted to stay.