My Choice

Our lives are defined by the choices we make. Choices riddle our days, fill our agendas. Sometimes those choices are simple: paper or plastic? Black shirt or purple shirt? Sometimes those choices are heavy: Where to go to school? What career to choose? One child or two?

As choices have been placed before me, I have often made the wrong one. I have made choices that fill me with regret. And I have lived with them and learned from them and resolved to make better ones.

Yes, I have made some ridiculous choices. But I have also made good choices. Solid choices. Perfect choices. Like I did when I chose him:

Twelve years ago today I chose him.

I chose him because he chased me around our tent with a flip flop screaming, "Flopper, flopper!" until I collapsed into a heap of giggles. And because when he spoke, people listened, and because he never stopped planning and creating and dreaming. I chose him because he still kissed his mama and wasn't afraid to publicly tell his Dad he loved him. And because watching him rock climb shirtless while his tanned muscles glistened with sweat made my heart pause. I chose him because a life without him in it stopped making sense.

I made my choice.  And as I see him with our children, I realize now how important that choice was. I was not only choosing a husband, I was choosing their father. It was not only the right choice, but the best choice I have ever made. And one I would remake without hesitation.

Man how I love that choice. I always will.