My Heart for Him.

Dear Jonathan:

It was at the Indianapolis airport

when I knew I wanted to marry you.

We'd only been dating for 100 days.

And 75 of those days, one of us was in another country.

You were coming back from a 2 week trip to Cambodia.

And I'd just returned home days ago from a 2 month adventure in Africa.

You got off the plane,

scraggly, dirty, and exhausted.

It was in that moment you were more attractive

to me than ever.

You were exhausted from serving Jesus.

And I realized that you loved Him just as much as I did.

It was then I knew what I wanted for the rest of my life.

It was to serve Christ alongside of you,

coming off of planes and out of battlefields

looking just as rugged and worn out as you.

It was in the St. Francis Cardiac Care Unit

Room #353

when I thought I might lose you.

Open heart surgery?

We'd only been dating for 7 months.

I never wanted to doubt God's goodness,

but what if the Name of God was glorified

more through bringing you home early

than through you staying on this Earth?

What if my teammate I was so ready

to serve alongside of,

suddenly went home?

I'll tell you what I love about you,

my Jonathan,

Your care.

Your laugh.

Your wild-heart.

Your goofyness.

But most of all,

I love the Jesus inside of you.

It attracts me to you like a magnet.

And does crazy things to my heart.

During your friends and family get-together

the Sunday night before your surgery,

I watched you walk up on stage,

standing tall and handsome,

Bible in hand,

thank everyone for coming,

and then encourage us all through scripture.

You are bold.

I heard your comforts

when I cried in your arms

the night before surgery day,

"God's got this."

You are courageous.

I heard your parents tell me that

you were quoting scripture to them

as the operating team wheeled

you into the Operating Room.

You are brave.

I've heard your prayers.

I've seen your obedient heart to Christ.

The very fact that you belong to Him

and He can do as He pleases.

You are obedient.

This past week I've seen your faith

walked out in a way I've never seen before.

And with each step towards Jesus I see you make,

I step with you,

and my heart weaves itself a little more into yours.

And that moment when we saw you for

the first time right after surgery,

you were still intubated,

unable to talk.

You were sedated,

unable to much move.

You began to wake up,

trying to focus because you heard

our voices.

Your hand started moving,

reaching out to us.

Surpassing all of the nurses

tests, requests, and hurdles.

As if it were nothing...

Your ejection fraction that's functioned

at 30-35% your entire life,

instantly jumped to 45-50%

directly after surgery.

It was then I knew you were a fighter.

And in these last few days as

you've began to recover,

you've never ceased to amaze me.

Your strength.

Your determination.

The way you fight through the pain,

and still manage to make us laugh.

You may not feel like a super hero,

but you are mine by far.

You inspire me to love God more,

to trust in His goodness more.

That His Will really is good for my life.

Always.

In your temporary weakness,

your faith is speaking strength

among the people watching you.

Your faith makes them strong.

And the Jesus in you,

is attracting them to His inviting arms.

You're already a miracle baby

who's survived the 10%.

You spent 25 years of your life doing

unimaginable things that most people don't

get to experience in their entire lifetime.

You shouldn't be alive today.

But you are.

By the Grace of God, you are.

And I can't believe God hand-picked me

to be with you.

I'm forever grateful

that we can share in this trial together.

Because it produces perseverance.

And will make us stronger together

for future mountains.

Whether we're climbing them,

or asking them to move.

Same team,
Alisha.