07/10/2026
21 years ago on July 2nd, I married Kim. For the second year in a row, we spent our anniversary not at a dinner table but on a grassy lot in Buffalo. Purple wig on her head, clipboard in her hand, a swarm of kids running circles around her.
I don’t think I could have drawn a truer picture of who she is.
There’s a version of an anniversary that’s candles and quiet. Ours was heat, water bottles, cooling towels, and a neighborhood we keep coming back to. I wouldn’t trade it. Watching Kim pour herself out for a city that isn’t even ours is the same thing I fell for 21 years ago, just 21 years deeper now.
This year also gave me two moments I’ll carry a long time.
Our daughter Ashlyn, at 18, decided on her own to come back and intern for six weeks with the ministry here. Nobody asked her to. Something just took root. You can’t manufacture that. You only get to stand back and be proud.
And then there’s the one I can barely write without getting choked up. Kim with her hand on our son’s back, praying over him the day he gave his life to Jesus. Twenty-one years of marriage, and this is the fruit.
Happy anniversary, Kim. Here’s to the next 21, wig and all.