As I got to know my husband Keith, I began to see how many things he was on the fence about in the best possible way. It wasn’t that he was uncertain, nor did he care what other people thought of his beliefs and opinions (he didn’t suffer from the people pleasing curse I did) but rather that he had reached the level of wisdom and balance to where he was able to keep a foot on both sides and lean his weight where it was most appropriate depending on the situation. He stood up for what he believed in, and had deep convictions, but he also knew when mercy and grace had to come first. He lived with love and let the law come second.
When we first met, I teased him about this, telling him he was a walking juxtaposition. He was strong and yet gentle, quiet and yet witty, rugged and yet refined: he was full of surprises. He found this amusing, as I don’t think he’d ever heard anyone use the word as a compliment (I know, a bizarre one), and it became an inside joke for us. Although we laughed about it, it was true.
He was a businessman, but his generosity always overpowered the bottom line. He would give until it didn’t seem like we could give any more, and then he would give some more. He was especially fond of supporting folks with good intentions, be it the young man wandering around a parking lot selling CDS (yep, we had several rap albums from local youth), or someone selling baked goods for their church. His center console was often filled with mushed shrink-wrapped carrot cake, or Girl Scout cookies, or raffle tickets to support veterans. It was a menagerie of philanthropy. He didn’t eat sweets much, and didn’t care about winning a prize, but he felt like he had been blessed and loved helping people. He also liked bringing the tickets, or desserts, or handmade items home to me.
He was no frills and content with getting most of our stuff from the dollar store, and yet always willing to splurge for the best when it came to others or me. He was almost a pacifist, quick to offer forgiveness, but the first to jump in and fight off drunk marines harassing a woman. He carried a gun, and yet took no pleasure in killing, and hunted only with purpose (normally working dogs).
He never cared much about time when it came to business appointments and was generally running late, often because he stopped to help someone with something or listen to their stories. He never cared about time when I needed extra attention even though it often meant that his stopping a task to hold me would leave him finishing chores in the dark. And yet he did care about time when he had to pick me up from teaching my night classes or when we had a date night or church.
He could see the good in most anybody and was quick to tolerate difficult personalities and even quicker to forgive mistakes and things done against him. But he didn’t always see all the amazing heart in himself.
He was a man who was often seen with his beard and ball cap or straw cowboy hat, muddy jeans, and boots, his shirt stained with sweat and a few scattered holes. He looked as blue collar as they come. But he also spent a good portion of his day in a white lab coat, as a brilliant medical researcher and scientist who devoted years to searching for a cure for breast cancer and helping doctors better understand diabetes. He was not only a wonderful bird dog trainer, but he also worked with bomb dogs, and trained the first C. Difficile Detection dog in the United States.
When it came to horses, he loved rodeo and the western world as much as me. From his childhood pony Trigger he progressed into more speed and bigger horses, along with flashier fringed shirts. He was at home in a cowboy hat, and yet moved from Quarter Horses and rodeo to gaited horses as he followed bird dogs over acreage.
He was an English pointer man, appreciating poker straight tails and high heads, but the dog that took up most of his heart was my short tailed German Shorthair.
He was a Christian and a scientist, a believer and a questioner.
He could fix a lawnmower, drive a tractor, and shoot with great accuracy. When not outdoors, he made extraordinary hot cocoa, and could also sew and cook. Ever skilled with his hands, he also did hundreds of heart transplants on mice with his medical research. As a friend accurately said, he was a Renaissance man, who could talk literature, theology, and art with me all day long, but hated museums.
He could mix household ingredients and lather a dog up to make their hair grow back and skin issues dissipate and yet he rarely took time to treat his own cuts and scrapes.
He was an admirer of well dressed, attractive women, and yet out of all the ones that crossed his path, he didn’t think anyone could measure up to my jeans, boots, and often tousled hair. He found the most beauty in me and chose my heart over manicures and a picture perfect life.
He is my true love and yet my biggest inspiration.
He is my favorite juxtaposition.
