Pink Fleece Ball Gowns

We were running late yesterday morning...caused by the syndrome of too many encounters with the snooze button. We scurried through the house packing lunches...warming up vehicles...choosing clothes for the day...and consuming the ever-necessary morning coffee.

I turned on the radio to hear the road conditions for Fort Wayne so I could know what to expect on my commute, and Khristian Stanfill was in the middle of singing Your love never fails...never gives up...never runs out on me...

One of our favorite songs.

I cast a smile Ryan's direction and started to pass by him in our room, wearing my super-attractive hot pink fleece robe with giant pockets and a trailing belt. My bedhead poked unattractively from leftover bobby pins, and I clutched my coffee mug tightly in my hand.

As I passed by him, he slipped his arm around me and lured the coffee cup out of my hand. {Only someone I really really love can even touch the coffee at that hour and get away with it.}

And then he started to dance. Right there in the middle of a cramped morning, with a wife sporting yesterday's smeared eyeliner and semi-ratty hair, he invited me to dance.

The song was already half over but we moved slowly around the rug at the end of the bed while he whispered in my ear that he loved me.

Those moments - the ones when pink fleece robes become ball gowns - are the moments when I am so grateful this man chose me. That he saw past all those things that made me so invisible and saw someone to love.

I don't take it for granted.