Brent Ryan

Every once in a while, I post a super mushy blog about how wonderful my husband is. Then we usually end up engaged in some intense fellowship over something petty and we won’t even remember what started it. 
This is one of those once-in-a-whiles. He is reffing football right now, so the fellowship will wait until later.

Today is a day I love to celebrate. And it, indeed, is worthy of celebration. On this day in 19-somethingseven, the world was graced by the birth of Brent Ryan Kleppen. Today is his birthday. A day I cherish. A day worthy of noting.
Brent is a good guy. I’m not just saying that because I’m his wife. I’m saying it because it’s true. We’ve been together for over 12 years now. But you’ve probably already read about that.  Sometimes he makes poor choices. Sometimes he doesn’t think. Sometimes our intense fellowship is solely his fault. A lot of sometimes. But all of the time, even when he’s a turd, he’s a good guy.
I could tell you about the time we were dating and I had strep throat (which seemed like it was every other week) and it was Valentine’s Day. I couldn’t go out to dinner, so he brought me Chinese food and a teddy bear and sat with me while I was miserable. In my parents’ house. I was miserable because of the strep throat, not because I was in my parents’ house. Well…. no, okay, strep throat. (hee hee)  I could tell you about the time we weren’t going to see each other for 17 days right around Easter, and I got a basket with little plastic eggs in it. I was supposed to open one a day. There were 17 eggs. Each one had a little candy wrapped in a sweet quote. I could tell you about the innumerable times I’ve been sick, and he has taken far better care of me than I’ve ever taken of him. I could tell you how he has held me and let me cry, offering the best hugs big strong arms can muster. I could tell you how he has led some of the most powerful, spirit-filled prayers I have ever heard. I could tell you how I turn to goo when he sings. I could tell you how he is one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever met. I could tell you how much I admire him wanting to do things right. I could tell you how cute he is when he talks in his sleep. Not so much when he snores, though. I could tell you of the many times he’s made me laugh until my sides hurt. And you can tell by watching him with Haley for five minutes, that he is an amazing, adoring, wonderful father. I could tell you about the things no husband, and no father, ever wants to have to face. And how Brent navigated those waters with poise, wisdom, and strength most men in his shoes would long for. I’m proud of the man he is. I’m proud of you, Brent.
I used to throw him a party every year. And every year he told me how much he’d rather have a quiet, no frills celebration. And every year I thought he was just being modest. Until I realized he is not the same socialite I am. So we have modest celebrations. Because it’s what he likes. And when I do throw him parties, he goes along with it. Because he also likes me. And because…well…he’s a good guy.
So Brent – in the most modest way I can muster – Happy Birthday, Babe! This is my favorite day – because without it, I’d be without you. And nobody wants that. 

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