Dear Annie,
Before you saw my face, before you heard my voice, you read my words on this blog. When I considered ending this blog 4 years ago, you were why I didn’t go through with it.
This blog is precious to me because it’s how I met you, my precious wife. My words attracted your interest a week after Valentine’s Day 8 years ago, so I hope my words today will maintain your interest this Valentine’s Day. You loved my writing before you loved anything else about me, so I’ll write about how much I love you.
I’m looking forward to being with you tonight. For 1,804 days we were separated by 632 kilometres. So I don’t take any day with you for granted. Even when some people didn’t understand, you knew me well enough to wait for me.
You do not speak my native language, but you understand me. That is why, during the long distance, you were the closest person to me.
I had a fear of marriage until I fantasized about becoming one with you; I had a fear of fatherhood until I dreamed about raising children with you. You are kind, gentle, humble, patient, and gracious. You are everything a sinner like me needs in a wife; you are everything sinners like our children need in a mother.
I know it saddens you that I haven’t developed close friendships in Ohio as I did so easily in Toronto. But it probably saddens you more than it saddens me. You are enough, Annie. Our friendship is enough for me. That is why I can honestly say I’ve never been bored with you. When God gives me 24 hours with you, I ask for more.
You know I miss my family and friends, but you are worth more than all of them together, Annie. It’s an honour to leave home to make a new home with you. King Solomon’s bride said his love is better than wine; your love is better than my mom’s jollof rice (Song of Solomon 1:2).
Because of your character, I had high expectations for you as a wife—and you’ve somehow surpassed them. Many wives have done excellently, but baby, you surpass them all (Proverbs 31:29).
I’ve given myself to you, but you’ve given me yourself and two children. Whatever I give you, you always give me more in return.
I know two children in less than 16 months have been hard on your body. I also know you’re sometimes anxious about your post-pregnancy body.
But I’m more grateful for your body now than on our wedding day. The marks on your body that you hate are reminders of the people we love: our children.
Your body is a temple for worship. Your scars aren’t from our children; they are from divine workmanship. “You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you (Song of Solomon 4:7).”
You are flesh of my flesh, though your skin doesn’t look like mine.
I hope these words make your face shine.
Because your love mirrors love divine.
You are my valentine, my Anne.