he's my butter pecan

We just arrived back from a walk through our neighbourhood - my passport had arrived in the mail and we took a walk to the post office to pick it up. Once finished, Martin felt a rare craving for dessert, so we extended our walk further to the Northeast Grocery, home to yummy ice cream, and also featuring one of the best-tasting flavours ever: butter pecan.

So we're walking along, enjoying our ice cream, the warm evening air still and thick with unshed rain. I'm in the midst of talking tough, and Martin is laughing at me as we pass by this cute little elderly lady. We smile politely, and she's already a little ways past, when she turns around and asks, "Can I say something to you?"

I can't quote her exactly, but I hardly forget the point.

"Does life get any better than this? A young couple in love, having ice cream, enjoying a night like tonight?"

At that moment, it didn't feel like it could get any better.

I've never experienced something quite so natural, lovely, and poetic. I could have kissed her. I could take many a lesson from a person so observant and transparent.

I was ever-more aware of the touch of Martin's hand on the walk back, of his comfort when I pinched my finger throwing something in the trash bin, when he laughed with abandon.

To love and be loved. I need to relish it, cherish in it, bathe in it. To be vulnerable and bare, to acknowledge the perfect beauty in humility to one another. To cradle God's precious example of love and sacrifice with gentle, awe-struck hands. To remember His unforeseeable ways, and the incomparable blessing of obedience.

What a wonderful little lady. I hope I see her again.