Dear young man ...

It was I who first fell in love with you. I fell in love with you before I even met you. I fell in love with you before I even knew you were what I needed at that exact moment. To this day and for all my days that follow, I will always be in love with you.

I remember my first glimpse of you. It was foggy, things were blurred and the room was chaos, but there you were ... As perfect as I ever imagined you'd be.

I could never forget how you left. Neither you nor I had a choice in the matter. I just knew I had to see you again quickly — no matter what it took.

When I saw you again, I could only weep.

But then I touched you, soft and tenderly, just a brush against your skin, but enough to renew my desire to love you until the end of time.

And, then one day, the clouds parted and God's glory rained upon us, and you were mine to hold for the rest of my life.

My life was changed; it was you who changed it.

For the better. For the worse. For the end of my days.

It's hard to believe it has been 16 years since you entered my life.

I can't count the hugs you've given me, or the hugs I've stolen. I couldn't begin to add up the number of times you've made me laugh, smile or even cry. And you'll never know just how many times I've watched you sleep, or stared at you from a distance, knowing it was you who made me who I am.

With your 16th birthday approaching ever so quickly, I can only tell you my heart bursts with joy, pride and love whenever I think of you.

Oh, I worry. And then I pray. About you. For you.

But you've also brought me so much peace.

That's because I know you're a young man who loves his Lord and Savior. I know you're a man of character, trustworthy and true. You work hard, love with loyalty and tease with the spirit of a child.

Your story is only beginning. We are merely a few chapters in, and there's so much more left for you to write. Not me. You. I only wrote the prelude. The rest is up to you.

I know those chapters will be filled with mistakes. The paper will be crumpled, and the pen will run out of ink. But our God will be there, even when I'm not, to make sure the chapters are filled with love and the story will be one worth telling.

Oh, I know my gushiness will turn your cheeks pink. You'll roll your eyes and probably think I've lost my mind. It's OK. I understand. My parents were dorks, too.

Just know it was you who helped shape me into the woman I am today. You allowed me countless trials and errors. But more than anything you taught me how to love children, and I truly believe God's plans for me have always been to love His children.

In Ecclesiastes 3:1, it says: "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens."

In just a few short years, I will have to release you to the world. I won't be able to catch you when you jump out of the nest. I can only pray that you'll fly.

Your potential is infinite as long as you always believe in yourself and trust in the Lord.

As the next few years pass too quickly, you'll just have to pardon me if I love a little stronger. And if you catch me staring, just know I'm merely preserving memories.

I could've never imagined 16 years ago as I cried next to that NICU incubator that the days that followed would pass this quickly. I never pictured that 5-pound baby towering over me, picking me up off the ground or driving out of the driveway on his own.

But here you stand.

A young man.

And I couldn't be prouder of who you've become.

August 14, 1999, changed my life. It made me a mother, and I thank you for that.

I love you.

Sincerely,

Your Biggest Fan

A feet-sweeping chance meeting

How my love looked when we first met.

Five years ago, I was running late for the council meeting I had to cover in Mitchell for work. Alex, not even 2 years old, was sick. I sent a text message to a friend, who I knew was attending the meeting, and asked her to save me a seat.

I slipped in just a few minutes before the start time, settled in my seat and looked around the room.

I spotted a young man sitting a few rows behind me to the right. Sporting a baseball cap, he was a good-looking guy, but I didn’t have the slightest clue who he was.

After the meeting, he approached me and introduced himself:

Henry Shetler. Former Amish guy. Many mutual friends. Cool.

We exchanged phone numbers, relating to work he’d be tackling for the Persimmon Festival, and went on our merry ways.

Fortunately, our merry way crossed and our lives meshed.

On Monday, Feb. 4, I’ll be covering yet another council meeting, five years to the day we first met. On Friday, Feb. 8, we’ll have dinner again, just like we did five years before.

But these days, we have much to celebrate — our beautiful family, chief among those, and the loving, respectful relationship that makes all of it possible.

When I work Monday night, likely I’ll sit back with a slight grin on my face and look forward to heading home to the man who has continued to sweep me off my feet since our chance meeting five years ago.

And thank the wonderful God who allowed our paths to cross.

Seeing beyond the teen and finding love

If I were forced to categorize myself, I’d say I’m a Little Kid Person. Teenagers have always kind of confused me, even though I seem to relate to them rather well. I’ve just found myself more adept at handling the wee ones, opting for a tenacious toddler over a smart-aleck teenager any day of the week.

But as I adjust to being the mother of a teenager, I am beginning to think my previous view of teenagers is based merely on what I’ve been used to up until this point. I’ve only been the mother of a teenager for about three months, so I’d say my skewed image isn’t a reality, but more in line with the “I just don’t know any better” realm.

So lately, I’ve been keeping an open mind, opting not to just chalk those years up to a lost, stinky cause that we’ll have to trudge through until we reach the light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, I’ve been sitting back, listening and enjoying the newfound world that’s slowly encompassing a portion of my life.

First, I enjoy the independence my teenager possesses. He’s no longer afraid to stay home alone, and actually prefers to stay at the house and watch TV. Let’s just say loading three wiggling children into my SUV only to run to town to drop one off at basketball or football practice is enough of a task without having the oldest one thrown in the mix to instigate.

Speaking of instigating, teenagers are smart enough to do that. Experience has taught them precisely what button to push when in order to instantly send the remaining siblings into a screaming tailspin that leaves parents breathless and begging for mercy. Why? Oh, just because they’re bored.

Well, that is, if we see him. Suddenly the door to his bedroom started closing. It seemed instant. One day, he welcomed visitors to view his world, and the next day, we were barred from entrance. He doesn’t have a lock on his door, so I enter whenever I darn well please, but still, I’ve had to grow used to seeing a paneled barrier where once I would see a little boy sitting among a pile of Lincoln Logs.

And although I do seem to be adjusting to most changes, I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to The Glare. You know the look we get when we make them do something they really don’t want to do. Silence almost always accompanies The Glare. The eyelids turn into little slits while fire spews from the millimeter left open. He’s still a boy though so The Glare is usually short-lived.

But the most amazing part of having a teenager has been seeing glimpses of maturity peek through the ashes of childhood.

He understands situations that I’m still unaccustomed to discussing with him, so it surprises me. He sees truth, the way most children unabashedly do, but he understands the truth now. In one recent conversation, I told him of an upcoming happening. He smiled at the excitement of it, but after a few seconds of thought, he saw through the disguise and realized the root of the situation. And without hesitation, he expressed his disdain toward the injustice. I just smiled at him and said, “We don’t have to like what they do, but we’re called to love them. Just remember that.” He nodded with understanding, and we moved on to another conversation.

And the conversations are grand. He pulls me aside now to discuss situations in adult language. And even asked his youth minister about some pretty deep faith-based questions, which shows he not only trusts the adults in his family, but he is being resourceful and candid to others who’ve earned his trust.

It’s a new world for me. And I rather like it. Sure, it’s different, but underneath the surface, there’s still a little boy who captured my heart the instant I met him all those years ago. And that sort of love never changes — it just grows deeper.

A Dream Come True: Building our marriage

I’ve got to admit that before Beloved Hubby and I started building our new home, I was more than a little worried about the endeavor.

We’re both stubborn folks, and when everyone looks at you and says, “If your marriage can survive building a house, you’re good for life,” then your nervous meter begins working overtime.

Who wants to get a divorce over a house? What if building a house puts a tremendous strain on your marriage? Is it worth it?

But I’m here to tell you I am now convinced that’s one of those old sayings people who’ve never built a house together make up as an excuse as to why they’ve never built a house together.

BH and I are the direct opposite of that old adage.

Building a house together has strengthened our marriage. Like the steep foundation our house stands upon, our marriage has never been more rock solid.

BH mentioned as much to me last night.

I told him I agreed, but I can’t pinpoint why it has strengthened our marriage. I could only surmise that building this house has given each of us more respect for each other’s talents.

You see, in our house-building endeavor, BH is the head contractor, building extraordinaire and expert on all things construction. I question nothing when it comes to how that house stands. He’s a very talented builder who always does things the right way. I worry about nothing. I know he’s building us the best house possible.

But because BH is the CEO of our construction project that means he’s not home a lot. He spends many days and most nights at the construction site. He’s missed more church services than he’s attended this year, and it’s not unusual for us to not see his smiling face until 9 o’clock at night.

I don’t help much at the construction site. I make required decisions, on his sage advice, but I’m not picking up a single paintbrush or hammer.

Instead, while he’s CEO of the new house, I’m CEO of the old house. I’m the one fixing dinner, doing homework, giving baths, making lunches, making 12 trips a night into town to pick up kids and organizing our very scheduled lives.

And it’s OK with BH that I’m fulfilling a different role and not lifting a finger to help at the new house. And it’s equally OK with me he’s not at home right now because I know he’s building our home.

He respects the work I do at home, and tells me as much. He’s constantly amazed I work a full-time job, and still manage all I do at home, without his help. He doesn’t understand how I do it. Truth is, I don’t understand how he looked at a blueprint and built a house from the ground up just by looking at those pieces of paper.

And I think the endeavor has surprised us both beyond measure. He thought, before construction began, I would be upset because he wasn’t home much. I figured he’d be more restrictive in the overall design of our house, and we’d be arguing over siding colors and flooring materials. Truth is, there’s been none of it.

Instead, we’re more thankful of our time together. When he arrives home, he quickly wraps me in his arms and I welcome the break from the insanity – even if it’s only for a moment.

I tell him constantly how talented he is, and how much respect I have for him and all he does for our family. I urge him to take breaks, when I sense he needs it, and I no longer mind if he spends a few hours on Sunday afternoon immobile on his recliner.

And he reciprocates by offering to scrub a toilet when I seem overwhelmed with housework, or jumps at the chance to give the little boys a bath and wrap them in cozy pajamas when the opportunity arises.

So when people ask me when the house will be completed, I just shrug and smile. Who cares, I think to myself. It has proved so enjoyable I’m in no hurry for the project to end.

Truth is, the results are far more valuable than a concrete and lumber building. In building our house, we’ve constructed a marriage that can withstand the elements for a lifetime.

Off to work ...

I love this picture. I loved it the minute I snapped it. Little man thought he was "working" around our new home site. Daddy was around the corner doing the actual work. Mamma was following Little Man and his brothers, snapping pictures for the scrapbook. Little Man ventured up the hill, shovel in tow. I saw the picture before I could even raise my camera. It was there; I just had to capture it. Those are the best pictures. Not posed. Just life. I try to imagine what was going through his mind at this moment. Can you just picture him thinking, "A man's work is never done," as he trudged up that hill? I've already blown up this picture, and it'll hang in Daddy's office for us to smile at forever.

It's not the walls, but what's inside them

It required careful planning. It required a lot of saving. It involved worry, scheduling and in-depth conversations about want vs. need.

We didn’t know if our dream would come true in the timeframe we selected. We had no idea what financing would be possible, and to be honest, we had no idea if that dream of a new home would ever really happen.

It was, after all, just a dream.

We just knew that six people, including four very active little boys, were quickly outgrowing our 1,200-square-foot abode. That was becoming painfully obvious on rainy days, friend overnights and through winter storms.

Hubby would just look at me and say, “Boy, we need a bigger house.” I’d reply, “What did you say? I can’t hear you over the wrestling grunts, truck sounds and your football game!”

Our little home doesn’t bother me. It’s my sanctuary. It is where I belong, and surrounded by quiet woods, most days there is no place I’d rather be living. But our home was increasing wearing on hubby, who desired something larger – built with his own hands – that he could be proud to call his.

So here we are. Land purchased, developed and now featuring a long drive and a giant hole. There’s not quite much there to see these days, but we see our dream coming alive.

On Saturday, we signed the construction loan paperwork for the biggest loan amount either of us have been responsible for, and the first time we secured financing together during our marriage.

And at some point this week, likely by Friday, we’ll have a concrete basement, patio and front porch slab where that big hole now stands.

Come September, hubby will begin driving in nails and securing screws, building our home from the ground up.

What that means to me is imaginable. To think of living in this house, one I could only dream of, with the love of my life and the most precious pieces of my heart, watching them grow with love and respect within the walls that I watched go up, is amazing.

People say building a house is the most stressful thing a couple can experience. They talk about layout, colors, space, light fixtures and cabinets.

I’ve never lived in a home I designed, so I know nothing of the sorts. I only know that as long as I share that space with the five guys who make my heart sing I’m going to be happy.

Sure, the house is nice, but I’ve always known that what lies within those walls is truly what’s important.

Amish family ties

If you ask Henry what he misses most about his Amish lifestyle, without missing a beat, he'll say his family.

You see, Henry is shunned from the Amish. What that means is that he chose to be baptized into the Amish church when he was about 18 years old. Because he left after his baptismal, he is now shunned. To be shunned doesn't mean what one might expect. In essence, it means he can't do business with the Amish. (I can't either for that matter because as a married couple our money is well, our money.) And he can't sit down to dinner with them, for example. But that doesn't mean he can't speak to him family. To the contrary, actually. When he sees his mother, father or siblings out, he values the conversations he gets to have with them. Does he go to their house to visit, you might ask ... The answer is no, out of respect for them, he will not. He knows they don't accept the choice he made, so he stays away. They don't want any of the other children to leave, and if he pulls up in a big truck, wearing a baseball cap, the youngsters may see value in being English and decide to leave. No one wants that, not his parents, and not us.

I wanted to ask Henry about his family. It's extremely important to him, and as I've grown to know them, I have quite a bit of respect for them. He has wonderful parents who brought him up to be the great man he is, and I thank them for that.

How many siblings do you have? "There are 11 of us. I am one of 11."

Name the children in order of age. "Daniel, myself, Lydia, John, Sarah, Mattie, Emery, Ada, Perry, Tina and Emanuel."

Are they all named for someone? "Yes."

Who are you named for? "My uncle, Henry Glick. My brother Daniel is named for an uncle, as well."

Have any of your other siblings left the Amish? Who? When? "Yes. My brother Daniel. He left a week after I did. Neither of us knew the other was leaving until we did. After I left and then after he left, we both felt sad for each other, from the standpoint of how it would hurt our parents."

Henry's mother is Mary G. Shetler. She quilts and is well known for her baking skills, selling her baked goods at the Orleans farmers' market.

Describe your mother for me. "It would probably be four words: Strong-willed, outspoken, loving and sociable. She'd talk to anybody and talk your head off."

Makes you wonder where Henry got his personality from, doesn't it?

Henry's father is Mose Shetler. When Henry was young, his father worked construction. He now runs a machine shop at his home. He also serves as the bishop for his church district.

Describe your father. "My father is very intelligent, first and foremost. He was one of those guys who was a pretty strict dad. He set a high bar for us, as far as expectations, but at the end of the day, he was very reasonable and fair."

What kind of parents were they growing up? "First of all, we had a very loving family. They were very firm, but fair and compassionate."

What was the best times you spent with your family? "Traveling with them. I have family in several states, including Missouri, Indiana, Ohio, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Mississippi, New York and even in Canada. Believe it or not, Amish travel a lot and enjoy vacations."

Where did your parents come from? "Dad was born in Canada, and mom was born in Ohio. They met in Ohio, were married in Ohio, then moved to New York, where I was born and lived until 1996 when we moved to Mitchell."