true measuring

Sep 25, 2011

I am stealing this poem from my friend Tasha. I LOVE it and I LOVE that I am living it.

“The place to take the true measure of a man is not in the darkest place or in the amen corner, nor the cornfield, but by his own fireside. There he lays his mask and you may learn whether he is an imp or an angel, cur or king, hero or humbug. I care not what the world says of him: whether it crowns him boss or pelts him with bad eggs.

I care not a copper what his reputation or religion may be: if his babies dread his homecoming and his better half swallows her heart every time she has to ask him for a five-dollar bill, he is a fraud of the first water, even though he prays night and morning until he is black in the face. …

But if his children rush to the front door to meet him and love’s sunshine illuminates the face of his wife every time she hears his footfall, you can take it for granted that he is pure, for his home is a heaven…. I can forgive much in that fellow mortal who would rather make men swear than women weep; who would rather have the hate of the whole world than the contempt of his wife; who would rather call anger to the eyes of a king than fear to the face of a child.”

(W.C. Brann, Quoted by H. Burke Peterson, Ensign, November 1982, 44)

I don’t like this picture of me at all, but I love the look on Richard’s face, so I am going to live with the embarrassment of my appearance (which is on day ten of our camping trip and day fourteen since I had showered…none of which explains why my eyes are barely open and I look like death warmed over). It is one of the few I could find that has both of us together and it is high time you see us together! I am always taking pictures, so I am not in many of our photos and somehow I forget to take pictures of my sweetie.

My Richard is the type of man who makes his home a heaven. He is patient and gentle and non-judgmental and makes up for my deficiencies. He doesn’t lose his temper. He doesn’t become exasperated with me when I lose mine. He doesn’t yell or smirk or sigh or any of the other things we often do to people to show how much of a bother they are to us.

A long time ago he put his family’s happiness at the top of his priority list and he has kept us there for all these years. He thoroughly enjoys being with us, serving us, teaching us, loving us.

He is not perfect. He makes a huge mess when he cooks. He tosses and turns and wakes me up all night long. He doesn’t multi-task very well. He sometimes mumbles.

But his children run to the door to greet him. They want to be with him. They want to sit on his lap, scratch his head, bring him treats, and snuggle, snuggle, snuggle…and not just our little ones…all of them. They trust him emotionally and physically. My eyes light up when I see him. My heart still flutters when he kisses me. I am not afraid to tell him or ask him anything. I love being in his arms and know my heart is safe with him.

He may not have the world’s accolades, but he has mine and that is what matters, not just what matters most, but what matters at all.