As my husband celebrates another birthday, I find myself thinking about something I never understood when I was young: what it truly means to grow old beside the right person.

I used to think love was measured by the big moments: the milestones, the celebrations, the memories you can point to and photograph. But marriage has a way of teaching something different. It’s built in the ordinary days that don’t look like much at the time, but somehow become everything.

Love has changed over the years. It isn’t as loud as it once was. The butterflies have settled into something quieter, something deeper. These days it shows itself in small, everyday moments. It’s him bringing me a glass of iced water before I even realize I’m thirsty. It’s reaching for my hand without thinking as we walk through a parking lot. It’s asking how my day went, and actually listening for the answer.

Looking back, I remember the foot rubs more than the fancy dinners. After a long day, when my feet are tired and aching, and I can barely stand another minute, he’ll sit down and gently rub them without being asked. There’s no ceremony to it, no attention drawn to it. Just care. And somehow, those quiet moments are the ones that have stayed with me the longest.

That’s simply who Mark is. Never flashy. Never looking for recognition. Just quietly faithful in the thousand little ways that have made our marriage feel safe for all these years.

Over time, I’ve learned that forgiveness matters more than being right. We’ve had our share of disagreements. But today, I honestly can’t remember what most of them were about.

What I do remember are the apologies we offered each other. The conversations that eventually softened. The choice to protect our marriage instead of trying to win.

Being right never built anything lasting. Forgiveness did.

One of God’s sweetest gifts to our marriage has been laughter. It has carried us through seasons when tears would have been easier. Even now, after all these years, Mark still knows how to make me laugh when I least expect it. Life hasn’t always been easy, but laughter has often carried us farther than we thought possible. I’ve come to see it as one of God’s quiet mercies. It doesn’t erase hard days, but it lightens them enough to keep going.

Growing older has brought gray hair (thank goodness for hair color), slower mornings, and more aches and pains than I’d like to admit, but thank God it hasn’t taken away our laughter. If anything, it has made it more precious. Aging is a privilege not everyone is given. We’ve known people who never had the chance to grow old together. Remembering them changes how I see time. I no longer assume tomorrow is promised; I receive today as a gift.

And doing life beside the person you love feels like an even greater gift still. When we first married, we had no idea what life would look like. We were just two people hoping this time we were choosing well.

This is my second marriage. My first carried its own brokenness and painful lessons, shaped by broken trust, addiction, and the kind of pain that makes you question everything you thought you knew about love. But over time, God did what only He can do. He brought healing, clarity, and a deeper understanding of what peace in a relationship should feel like.

Life changed us. Time did too. Through every season, one thing remained steady: we kept choosing each other. Not perfectly. Not always easily. But faithfully.

And I think that’s what love really is, not necessarily a moment or a milestone, but a decision made over and over again through every season.

As Mark’s birthday approaches, I don’t find myself thinking about gifts or plans or anything grand. I find myself grateful for the little things.

Another morning together.
Another walk through the house while the coffee brews.
Another conversation at the end of a long day.
Another chance to say thank you, to God, and to him.

We can’t promise ourselves another year. None of us can. Today is the gift we’ve been given. Another birthday. Another morning. Another ordinary day made extraordinary because we get to spend it together. And for that, my heart is full.

Happy birthday, my love.

Thank you for making ordinary the sweetest part of my life.

Thank you for choosing me all those years ago.

And thank you for continuing to choose me every single day since.

“Love never fails.”
— 1 Corinthians 13:8 (NKJV)