I became a wife at 16. I grew up very quickly and just as quickly lost most of my high school friends. I spent the first semester of my senior year very pregnant and very much alone. I finished the last of the classes I needed to graduate on January 14th and became a mother three weeks later. My best friend of all–my husband–rarely left my side and never left my heart. Thirty-two years later he still comes home to me. He always finds a warm welcome.

I grew up amid great dysfunction with regard to marriage, so I had seen a lot of pain and a plethora of problems by the time I walked down the aisle in a tiny church in East Tampa. I was still a child and scared of what the future held, wondering if I could break chains of marital heartache and be a good wife and freely receive love from my devoted husband. God said I could. I did.

I get teased a lot for how crazy in love I still am with that guy I married all those years ago. I gave him my heart and he’s held it softly for three-fourths of my life; how could I not be crazy for him?

I’ve never liked husband-bashing, even in jest, so I’m a bit of a dud in crowds where that is accepted conversation. My husband is my hero, and if I get a chance to pick up his dirty clothes or take his plate to the sink or take out the trash because he forgot, I smile at the opportunity to serve this man who has given me his life and a houseful of beautiful children.

If I ever write a book on wifing, it won’t be because I am a perfect one. It will be because I have been so blessed by the experience I want to share it so other women can live it, too.

I like the way I wife, and I admit I’m pretty crazy about the idea of keeping this up for a long time to come.

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