Imagine, if you will, me at the age of 15.  I had my eye on this cute drummer.  He was tall and skinny with black curly hair.  He wore a long sleeve shirt under a short sleeve shirt most days (this was winter) and his black Oakley hat.  He drove a blue Blazer.  He was the lead snare in the drumline (of which he was also the captain), and played the set in the jazz band.  *insert dreamy sigh here*

I loved watching him play, whether it was the snare or the set.  He made my little heart go pitter-patter.  This morning he played drums at church.  He does about twice a month, so I’m not sure what was special about this morning, but something was.  All of a sudden I was in high school again, watching that cute boy (who is still tall and skinny with black curly hair) play the crap out of that drum set.  He still makes my heart go pitter-patter.  I still want to hold his hand when we go on walks.  I still want to put my head on his shoulder when we watch TV.  I still want to dance with him in the kitchen.  In six weeks we will celebrate our 12th anniversary.  We’ve been together for 15 1/2 years.  And I remember the very first time I made a move to sit by him in the band room.  I remember calling him to go out on our first group date.  I remember going to his house for our first official date.  I remember our first kiss in his kitchen.  I remember the look on his face when he came in to see me before our wedding (Yes, we saw each other, we did pictures before hand.  It was great.)  I remember 12 incredibly happy years of being married to the man God meant for me to marry, and I can’t believe I get to love him all the days of my life.