Thank you, Blue.

That’s what my second husband would always write at the end of the love letters he’d write to me.

Blue was how we first met.

We hadn’t lived in my grandparents’ house for very long when I saw him come staggering down our dirt drive greasy from head to toe, shirtless in his torn up denim overalls.

I locked our door for the very first time.

Every lock.

I knew he’d be able to see me through the kitchen’s open window blinds and door, so I quickly went to the living room where the blinds were closed.

He knocked on the door…I peeked through the blinds.

He finally stopped knocking and started walking toward our fields.

I really didn’t want to open that door, but I did once he got a good distance from the front porch.

I yelled from the porch—Can I help you?

He replied—I’m just getting my ol’ mule Blue that wandered in your pasture.

I’d like to think I smiled as I said ok, but there is no telling what expression was on my face that day.

I quickly closed and locked the door back.

Every lock.

It would be just a few years later before I’d see him again.

Not only would I unlock that door but I’d open my heart to him as well.

He’d become my second husband and God would use him to teach me so much about myself, life, and God.

I too say—thank you, Blue.

I love who I have become, and I have no regrets for the experiences it took to get me here.