November 13-15, 1970

Nate continued to leave notes for me, many of them thank you’s. I loved him for writing them and got a kick out of his hiding places.

One note was stuck in the steering wheel of my car, another under my pillow. Notes were taped to the bathroom mirror, the front door, and the kitchen sink. Once he bought me an Eskimo pie and attached his note to it in the freezer: “Happy Wednesday!” he wrote. Occasionally I’d find a message among the frozen vegetables.

Nate thanked me for cleaning the apartment, folding his undershirts, and making breakfast.

Of all the notes he left, though, my favorite was his simple “I love you,” something he had said consistently from the beginning of our then-one-sided relationship. Even when I hadn’t loved him, he’d written of his love for me.

He did many other things that spoke love to me. He opened doors, whether it was at the apartment, in a store, a church, someone else’s home, or anyplace – including the car. Even if it meant standing in the rain, he always took care of me first.

He brushed every new snowfall off my car and always carried boxes or bags for me, even if they weren’t heavy. He pulled out every chair for me, never seating himself before I was settled – even when it was just the two of us in our apartment. And at the dinner table, he never helped himself to any of the food before offering the serving bowls to me.

When we took our evening strolls around the neighborhood, he faithfully walked on the curb side, the old-fashioned, gentlemanly way to shield a lady from harm. I marveled at how seamlessly he changed sides if we went around a corner or across the street, almost like a smooth dance.

Any time he got a glass of water or a Pepsi for himself, he’d ask if I wanted one, too, and then would prepare them both. And he never sent me off to work without giving several delicious kisses. When I returned, he had a bunch more ready for me.

On cold days he made a cozy fire before I came in from work, knowing this would warm me inside and outside. As we talked on a blanket in front of it, he was careful not to interrupt me and always focused on my face when I talked.

Even when we were in a group, he kindly introduced me and spent time talking to me as well as others. By his consistent example in these ways, he let me see what life looked like when one person put another ahead of himself. His actions assured me of his devotion.

As I watched him, it seemed like he didn’t have to work very hard at doing these things, which amazed me. Rather, they flowed naturally from what he was feeling. Nate was committed to me and to making our marriage the best it could be. And he deserved full credit for its success.

I knew not all young wives were thus blessed, and I was deeply grateful – both to Nate and to God… the One who had brought us together.

“I have not stopped thanking God for you.” (Ephesians 1:16)