Sweet Sixteen

“For it was not into my ear you whis­pered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” ~ Judy Gar­land

To Lora, with love…

Six­teen years ago today, our lives were joined together.

“And the two shall become one.”

Do you remem­ber those early days?  Hon­ey­moon­ing in the moun­tains.  The deserted movie the­atre.  The deer at our front door.

Giddy, happy, goofy love.

And all those moves.  A dif­fer­ent address every year.  Were we vagabonds? 

Love was in our hearts.

Road trips. Vaca­tions.  Adventures.

Camp­ing in the rain in Ten­nessee.  That flat tire in the mid­dle of the night on the way to Ken­tucky.  Bathing in the creek at Yel­low­stone.  Freez­ing near Lake Supe­rior.  Lost in Boston.  Mid­night trips through Chicago.  Zip lin­ing in Hon­duras.  Hang­ing out on that quiet beach we found near Mount Rush­more.  Raft­ing in Idaho (remem­ber how it went from really bad to really great).  Seat­tle at night.  That last run down the moun­tain at Win­ter Park.  Beach vol­ley­ball in Jamaica. 

The love for life’s adventures.

Fam­ily and friends.

Our own grow­ing fam­ily.  Three lit­tle munchkins (well, not so lit­tle any­more).   Extended fam­ily.  Friends.  Life.  Death.  Moments together. 

Love for all those we care about.

Chal­lenges.

Remem­ber the day Bekah was born, and then she stopped breath­ing.  Those moments of not know­ing, as she was rushed away.  So scary.  Or the day she was lost at that state park, and we had any­one we could find look­ing for her.  So scary.  The day she broke her leg.  The day that Jakob fell off the play­ground equip­ment.  The day Cameron broke his thumb.  The day you ended up in the hos­pi­tal, preg­nant, and while we were mov­ing into our house.  Moments in our mar­riage.  Life.

Love never fails.

Moments together.

Walks in the neigh­bor­hood.  Early morn­ing ten­nis (some­day I’ll beat you!).  Sit­ting around the camp­fire.  Cross-country ski­ing at Lapham Peak (wait…that was just painful for me!).  Con­struct­ing the base­ment together (I wasn’t meant to be an elec­tri­cian!).  That wood stove.  Pack­ing and unpack­ing boxes.  Work­ing together with the mid­dle school youth.  That trip to the home­less shel­ter.  Fin­ish­ing our first triathlon expe­ri­ence together.  Danc­ing at the Christ­mas party.  Many, many moments that are etched in our memories…moments that all hold spe­cial meaning.

Love is a verb.

“We are all a lit­tle weird and life’s a lit­tle weird, and when we find some­one whose weird­ness is com­pat­i­ble with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weird­ness and call it love.” ~ Author Unknown

Lora,

You are the stars in my sky and the sun­shine in my day!   You make every­thing brighter, and fill the world with your touch of love.

You sup­port me, always.  You put laugh­ter in my heart, and joy in my soul.  You have this amaz­ing way of just know­ing your “true north”.

We have trav­eled on this life jour­ney, together for the last six­teen years. 

A life jour­ney that has been an adven­ture.  An amaz­ing, beau­ti­ful, love-filled, trea­sure of time together.  It is only just the begin­ning.  The adven­ture con­tin­ues, and together we will con­tinue to live life from our hearts.  Together we will let that thing called ‘mutual weird­ness’ shine as love.   Con­tinue to always be that amaz­ing, lov­ing, car­ing, beau­ti­ful YOU…

You inspire me to LIVE!  You inspire me to BE!  You inspire me to LOVE! 

Love always,
Lance

Note:  A very spe­cial thank you to Audra Krell for the encour­age­ment to write this.  You are a dear friend.

Please, also check out my lat­est guest post at Life’s Lit­tle Inspi­ra­tions: The Ever Flow­ing Spring Water of Life.

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Lance writes sto­ries from his heart, aim­ing to inspire and moti­vate, as you align more fully with YOUR true peak. When he’s not here, you can find him hang­ing out with his fam­ily, rid­ing a bike, or just gen­er­ally act­ing goofy.   Sign up for the Thoughts from the Tree­house newslet­ter and get addi­tional inspi­ra­tion in your email inbox!

Lance Ekum

View all posts by Lance Ekum