My Shield

I must warn you, what you are about to read is sentimental. To give you a better understanding of where this is coming from, here's the preface: I hate poetry. I don't like flowery words. I hope I never compare my emotions to meadows, chirping streams, or flowing birds. See? It's silly. I have more important things to do than trying to decode fluffy words. But! Last night I was talking with my friend Nathan about our future spouses and he said A Scottish man in Afghanistan, and I was inspired by the rhyme. Thus, doomed to write a poem. Gag. So, here we go... a poem about My Shield (which is what I call my husband, as well as the ring I wear on my ring finger, and when speaking in loftier notions, God).

My Shield

A Scotsman* content to live in the Stans**
who knows the difference between Iraq and Iran.

Passionate about our Lord first and foremost,
in himself he would never boast.

Gives me some competition at Boggle- winner drives Deal's Gap;
he likes making me laugh and doesn't put up with my crap.

Always up for an adventure and wilder and crazier than me,
my protector and confidant is he.

Seeing through my hard-to-show-emotion shell,
he encourages my heart's transformation into an overflowing well.

Not afraid to look a fool,
my Mr Fix-It can fix anything given the right tool.

Personally parsimonious so he can give generously,
he knows about and even loves my habit of letting strangers live with me.

Cuttin a rug and making me blush are some hobbies that melt my heart
about the one with whom I am better together than apart.

A prayer warrior on his knees,
our Lord he is eager to please.

Of a bearded manly man who quotes DeNiro,
someday I will say, "that goofball is my spiritual hero."***

Footnotes:
*He doesn't actually have to be Scottish; a practiced fake accent would be good enough :)
** Mom, this does not mean that I'm moving to Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan or Uzbekistan- just that I'd be ok with it.
***Applications now being accepted by my dad.