One of my least favorite things to do as resident hausfrau is to clean out our fridge.

How does it get so grimy in there? If any of my lovely readers hold the secret to keeping a fridge clean, please comment post haste. (You're disqualified if you only have contentious grown-up type people in your house).

Despite the gross-out factor, it was a great time to pray for my friend Christine. She took on the nasty job of cleaning my fridge once or twice when I was too sick or pregnant or busy with a fussy newborn to even think about it. Her act of service is etched in my heart.

Similarly, I can't eat or peel a peach without thinking about Niki and Sally cleaning and freezing a case of peaches that came in the same day that I had to have home health start my first trimester IV. My lemon tree in Phoenix brought to mind Marc and his sons, who planted it for me after ripping out an agave. Chicken tortilla soup tastes like love--my friend Pat made vats for our family during chemo. My front landscaping makes me smile as I am thankful for my dh and his friend Steve who spent Christmas Eve sweating to put it in.

So, can you guess what my love language is?

Speaking of love languages, I owe my husband a belated thank you and I love you for sixteen years of marriage. Who knew we'd still be growing up together after all of these years? Happy Anniversary!

y.