Dearest Tim,

This is Tama of the past, eight and a half years past, in fact. Right now, we’re struggling through the throes of raising young children, coordinating preschool/kindergarten/second grade homework, dealing with reading/mathematics challenges, running the kids to gymnastics/karate/soccer, cavorting in all the fun and joy and frustration that goes into juggling the schedules of young children.

It blows my mind that when you read this, we’ll be swimming in the challenges of helping our children through high school, begin looking at colleges, making major life decisions, teaching them to drive, of all things.

I DON’T call shotgun.

I just wanted to say that there is no one I’d rather live through these years with than you. I have no idea what curve balls life will throw at us in the next while, but I know that we will handle them because that’s what we do. We promised that day in May 2004 to love each other through it all, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse.

I can see you read this, even now, years before you do, and I see the half-smile on your face, hear the thoughts in your head–that’s my dear, cheesy wife–and watch you process it all. You may have a few more gray hairs now; that’s okay, I do, too. We may still live in the same house and have the same jobs and do all the same routines, but deep down, we’re a lot farther on our journey, you and I.

Sometimes, it’s felt like the kids have taken over our lives (and in some ways, they have–three children running around takes up a LOT of time), but it’s the back-and-forth day-to-day living with each other that really counts in the long run.

In ten years, will we hold hands? Will we look at each other’s faces that show a few more lines than they did and remember what it was like twenty years ago when we said our vows? Will you still tickle me to make me laugh, and hug me when I cry?

I’ve been told many times that love is a choice. I expect that there will be a few or many times in the years between the time I’ve written this letter and the time you read it where I’ll have had the choice to either give up or continue on.

I will always choose to go on–with you. I will always see you, first and foremost, as the man I fell in love with, slowly, over Skip-bo and late-night music and movies and sand volleyball and day-old baked goods. Then I will always see you as the father of my children, the man who wishes to live a life, holy and pure, before God, an instrument of peace to others, a leader who trains his offspring to also love God. And then, I will always see you as my life partner, working through each challenge, every day, as we face it together.

Happy twentieth year of doing life with you.

Your wife of the past, who looks to the future, and loves you in both.