When I started dating my husband, we lived almost two hours apart. We took turns visiting one another, sent each other countless emails, and racked up some serious minutes on our cell phone bills. We were in ooey gooey love.
I remember one night in particular, I’d had a very rough day emotionally. I talked to him while he was at a friend’s house, surrounded by people who were laughing and obviously having a great time together. I felt sad that I couldn’t be one of the people there with him, enjoying his presence and conversation. He consoled me over the phone, and we said goodnight as he reminded me that he’d be coming to my house in two short days for a visit.
In the middle of the night, he called me and told me he was a few minutes away from my house. I was giddy with excitement and overcome by his willingness to drive so far at such a late hour just to see me. When I told him I was taken aback by his willingness to go to such extremes to spend time with me, he told me the story of an elderly men he knows who once walked 20 miles on multiple occasions, through snow and icy wintry weather in the Ozarks, to sit next to his soon-to-be fiance in her parents’ living room and simply hold her hand.
“I’d travel any distance for you,” he assured me.
And he has. Even after I moved back to my hometown so we could be together, he’s never stopped pursuing my heart and has gone to extravagant lengths to prove his love to me, to convince me of his trustworthiness, and to bring a smile to my face. He has trudged through miles of emotional baggage. He’s labored countless hours while building our home and providing for us. He’s never given up on finding his way to me.
Right now, he is driving home after working in the woods all day, hours away, coming home to me rather than taking the easier path and spending the night near the work site.
I’m so grateful he’s never stopped seeking me.