He is mine and I am his

{Holding hands in Virginia on an anniversary trip}

Valentine's Day sure has changed for me over the years. Has it for you? As a little girl I remember getting a heart-shaped pastel pink box of chocolates from my dad every year.

Then I grew into a teenager and stood along side every other pimply-faced girl in the school hoping I'd have roses sent to the office with my name attached to the card.

Valentine's Day as a married person though is 180 degrees different from either of those experiences.

It's better.

I've listened to so many of my friends ache over how their husbands will forget February 14. How no roses will arrive in their cubicle, no remembrance at all.

For me, I don't expect candy and roses, although he often brings them home. Because my husband doesn't just show me love one day in February. He shows me love year-round. Every day of the year.

He changes dirty diapers. Goes to work every single day without complaint. Mows the grass in 110 degree Texas heat. Gets on the floor to play with our son. Prays for me. Eats whatever meal concoction I come up with. Supports my dreams. Surprises me with presents when I least expect them (like an early Valentine's dinner out and tickets to a show last week!!).

Monday, he came home from work late, after an extra-exhausting long day at work, kissed both me and our son as he walked in the door and then hit his head with the palm of his hand and said, Oh, honey! I meant to bring flowers home! (Extra super sweet since we already celebrated Valentine's Day!)

Then he rolled up his sleeves to tackle a sink-full of dirty dishes for me, barely having set his briefcase down.

Who needs flowers, baby? I've got you.

My beloved is mine, and I am his. Forever. For always.