I remember when I saw you for the first time, ten years ago today.

The summer sun still clung to the sky behind scattered clouds as I entered the Starbucks across from the dance studio where I taught. It was the first week of the new dance season, and like many times before, I was headed to the coffee shop for some post-class refreshment.

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And a blind date. That’s really why I was there.

The young man sat just inside the door to the left: broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, and eyes bluer than I could’ve hoped for. (Will our son have your eyes? A mom can hope.) As he stood to shake my hand, I thought to myself, Here we go…In that moment, I had just met my husband.

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Ten years feels like a significant milestone in our timeline, but it’s all relative, isn’t it? In ten years, we’ve finished degrees, gotten married, celebrated eight (almost nine) anniversaries, gone on lots of trips, worked together AND renovated two houses without killing each other, adopted a dog, consumed copious amounts of Chick-Fil-A and Icy’s, endured heartache, survived a pandemic, laughed and lived life together.

And this year, we get to begin one of our most anticipated chapters: becoming parents.

For that I am grateful.

I am grateful to my friend who had the courage to listen to what God was telling her and connect the two of us.

I am grateful I went to Starbucks that one Thursday night, ten years ago.

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