When another woman compliments her guy by saying he’s the “best husband ever,” my weak insecurities tend to kick in. What does she think of my guy? Should I encourage my husband to be more like that one? I didn’t realize I was missing out on anything, but maybe I should be worried. How can we make this marriage better, the best ever??

Then my husband surprises me and does something exceptional and I find my security again. Like today. He didn’t bring me a gift, send flowers, or even vacuum the house. There isn’t a blue box waiting for that classic Tiffany “pop” as the white ribbon slides across. This isn’t about an intimate secret I need to keep between us.

He sent an email, asking me to edit a work document for him.

And I am reminded, I do have the best husband … for me.

Every. single. day. I am grateful for this man who is so patiently wakes up a very grumpy (I said grateful, not cheerful) me. How odd that our paths randomly crossed so many years ago, that we found one another and discovered life wasn’t complete without the other. We often laugh about it now and ask each other “how did we get so lucky?” How did I get to marry someone I admire so much, someone who makes me want to be a better person, someone I want to be friends with forever?

But life isn’t always a bowl of cherries. We struggle. We fight. Sometimes in private, sometimes too publicly, sometimes in front of my parents, which is most embarrassing. We also face hurdles, huge hurdles. Not just between us, but physical, emotional, financial, and, the hardest to talk about, spiritual. But, that’s just it. We do talk. We talk about what hurts. We laugh when things are good and we laugh harder when things aren’t good. We send text messages to make up because sometimes looking someone in the eye is the biggest hurdle to asking forgiveness. And then there are the times we don’t know how to help one another. We pull out the usual bag of tricks, but nothing works. The inability paralyzes us, causing injury to each other and our entire family.

Today, he sent me an email. He needs help. He knows it’s me that needs the help, deep emotional healing. A forklift-sized pick-me-up. But the usual hasn’t worked this time. He already tried washing the dishes, taking me out to lunch, being gentle and kind (not natural for a guy from a family of boys), even finding our favorite British show on PBS. And yet, he knows I am still struggling to shake off the funk.

I need to be needed. He knew that. No, he discovered it about me. “I have a serious project that I need your help with.” And, like that, I was able to reach up one weary hand for help. Sure, I’ll have to keep climbing and he will have to keep pulling, but now he’s got my hand. I know my husband, the best ever, won’t let me go. We’re in this together. For better or worse. But with him, it’s always better. The best, really.