Caleb is 38 today, which is mind-boggling because my own father used to be 38. Here’s a story my mother-in-law once shared with me about the naming of my husband, and if you know him, you’ll totally see this: Caleb arrived before his due date after a very intense and quick labor, and had his head up and his eyes open shortly after his birth. The Bible story of Moses and the Israelites scoping out the land of Canaan popped into her head–the one where only Joshua and Caleb believed that God would help them succeed in conquering it–with Caleb being the one to say “Give me that mountain!”
And this is why my Caleb was named Caleb–because he had no chill.
And he still doesn’t. He builds houses with his bare hands and coaches ball and schmoozes dealers and mows lawns and cooks and cleans and parents and husbands and leads and prays and loves. He expects the best from everybody because he always gives everybody his best.
I don’t know what his entire 38 years have been like but I do know that I have particularly enjoyed the last fourteen. And I thank God for bringing that bomb man into my life. I just love him.