JulieLeung.com: a life told in tidepools

When you and I walked together along a stretch of Cape Cod beach years ago, the ocean air tossing our hair, on that October Saturday, my love for you began. Not that I hadn’t already started to fall for you. By then you were my best male friend. After six months of conversations, including a summer of letter writing, you were already one of my best friends.

The ocean wind that day threatened to move my hair from its carefully combed and clipped position, and our conversation that day moved us, moved our lives from their plans onto a different course. At least I see it that way. If someone had warned me that going for a walk with you would change my life forever, and I’d end up as your wife in two years time, I probably would have run the entire way from the retreat back to Providence. Marriage wasn’t in my plans, at least not for many years.

Yet as we walked and talked on the beach, somehow we started talking about fathers and fatherhood. I think I said that I wanted my children to have a good father. I am crying a little as I remember your reply and it’s not that I’m remembering sand that irritated my eyes. I’m remembering how you said that you wanted to be a good father.

How do I explain how I felt to hear your words? My heart leapt sounds too cliche. Too Biblical. But the emotion I felt was of a Biblical proportion. It was huge. What did I know of the world at eighteen? What did I want out of life? But if I knew anything from my childhood, which was still in the process of ending, I knew that I wanted to marry a man who would value fatherhood.

Something happened that day on the beach. I remember that when we got back to the camp, we had been gone for a while and we had missed something. But it didn’t matter much to me. I look back and see our footprints in the sand, witness to our walk, the years we have had together since that October day.

As I write this, our children are playing in the living room. The youngest is saying “Daddy”, one of her favorite words. People tell me the kids look more like you than like me, and maybe that’s true. Consistent with the laws of genetics, the girls have your eyes rather than mine.

I hope the girls see the world with your eyes. You are compassionate and kind. You are patient and gentle. You are funny and help us laugh when we’re tired and cranky. You are honest and thoughtful. Your arms have brought comfort to the girls and to me when we needed it. You’ve been there when we needed you.

Last night you came home after commuting to the East Side and back on the ferry boat. An unusual day, especially since you usually work from home, a Saturday, and at 85 degrees, a scorcher. Exhausted, sticky and sweaty, the girls and I were finishing a late dinner on the deck when you pulled into the driveway.

Soon as you arrived, it was as if you brought peace with you. All was well with our world, even if was hot and sticky. Daddy was home.

You bathed the girls, giving the older two showers, taking off your shirt after it got wet. I couldn’t help staring at you. I was attracted to you. Not just your physique, but the way you loved your kids. On a hot day that had taken all of our energy and patience to endure, including a lengthy commute and work for you, you were kind and generous, even when one of the kids soiled the tub and then they soaked your shirt. You’re willing to do what is best for the kids, and you discipline yourself and sacrifice to give it to them, even when exhausted, with gentleness, without complaining. I’m amazed and grateful for you.

Earlier this week you showed that you will go to extremes for your children, even doing ballet ;-).

You have grace!

When you married me, we didn’t know, due to my difficulties, if we would be able to have any children. We didn’t know if you would become a father. Yet somehow you have become one three times. It’s been wonderful to share the miracles with you. The miracles of our children. And the miracles of grace and love at work in us, flowing from you to me in your example of fathering.

Sometimes gifts come in unexpected ways. Big changes come from little choices. I’m grateful to God for that October Saturday we shared a walk on the beach. And I’m grateful to you for teaching me what fatherhood means by your example before my eyes every day. I’m looking forward to the years of parenting still to come, where we will walk together, hand in hand.

I love you.