No one sees. No one knows. But I do.

I’m the only one that sees him get four children dressed for church each Sunday so I can have extra time to get ready. Clean dirty diapers without mentioning it. Buckle them all in their car seats so I don’t have to.

I’m the only one who knows he thanks me for dinner when it’s burned, or quietly gets his own, when I didn’t find the time.

I’m the only one who feels his patience as I complain about another broken glass. Or vent. Or can’t handle the mess and leave him to deal with it alone.

I’m the only one who sees his strong arms tucking our children in bed—at peace knowing he’s the first line of defense.

No one sees. No one knows.

But I do.

No one sees how he opens his heart over and over to volatile little humans. Making himself vulnerable to what he cannot control.

No one knows the tedious tasks he does every day, or the dreams he puts on the back burner to provide for our family.

No one sees the way he ungrudgingly pays for me to have time alone. The way he takes time to wrestle and tell bedtime stories when he has the weight of the world on his mind.

No one feels the way he kisses me so I feel beautiful and desired . . . after four babies and a roller coaster of different sizes and shapes.

No one sees. No one knows.

But I do.

I’ve never respected a man so much. Or felt so grateful he is raising our children. I’m humbled by his selflessness that no one sees or knows.

But by God’s Grace I do.