My wife is a romantic. For most of my life, I figured I was to. While we were dating I would perform extravagant acts of romance. Hot air balloon birthdays, surprise dresses and tickets to Romeo & Juliet, poetry, song and heartfelt meaningful cards. And then we got married. Now don't get me wrong, my wife is the kind of woman that gets more beautiful every day, she has a profound and deep authentic faith that leaves me in awe, she's intelligent and funny, she's given me four wonderful little sons, she is a patient and kind mother and a woman that sacrifices what she can to provide for our families happiness. I love her. I want her. I'm jealously grateful for her. The problem is that I'm not sure I got married for her. I think got married for me. And most of my life has been spent taking and pursuing my desires, in contrast to giving and seeking hers. Well, I give. I work, I'm faithful, I give cards on holidays, well, some holidays. I tell her I love her every day. But I'm not sure I always do it for her. Sometimes I do it out of duty.
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