I felt him roll over in the middle of the night. It had been a good day yesterday, and in my half-awake, half-dreamy state, I suddenly felt what the old ballad My Cup Runneth Over With Love tries to describe…

Sometimes in the morning when shadows are deep
I lie here beside you
Just watching you sleep
And sometimes I whisper
What I’m thinking of
My cup runneth over with love
Sometimes in the evening when you do not see
I study the small things you do constantly
I memorize moments that I’m fondest of
My cup runneth over with love
In only a moment we both will be old
We won’t even notice the world turning cold
And so, in these moments with sunlight above
My cup runneth over with love
My cup runneth over with love
With love 

“Honey?” I whispered.

“Mmmm?” in the dark.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Pause. “You are?”

“Yes. I’m so proud of how you replaced the brakes on the van this weekend. How many guys can do that?”

Quiet.

“And I’m proud of the way you spoke with and mentored that troubled young man at church today. And the way you played with our little boys this afternoon, even tho they were so rambunctious and you were so tired. And Honey?”

“Yes?” (Barely audible.)

“You made a pancake breakfast and one of the best Sunday dinners we’ve ever had for all of us today. Really. That was your best roast and your best gravy ever.” 

Silence. (…though I sensed the recognition of his cheffing had affected him.)

“And of all your video and audio work for the Retreat last week. It was perfect.”

At this point, my cup, which felt and tasted like creamy hot chocolate to my nocturnal spirit, put me to sleep. I don’t remember saying anything else. And I don’t think, though I can’t be sure, that he said anything else. I don’t even know if he heard half of it.

It doesn’t matter. I feel it. Still. My eyes “runneth over” in the morning. 

Happy Birthday, amazing man.