Tender wedding vows for a husband at a garden ceremony

I remember kneeling beside you in the dirt, both of us certain that rosebush was already gone, and you kept saying 'just one more try' until your hands were more soil than skin.

That's who you are to me — the one who doesn't walk away from something wilting, who stays low to the ground and keeps working even when it looks hopeless.

So here, among these same kinds of blooms, I promise to be as patient with you as you were with that stubborn plant. I will tend to you on the seasons when you don't feel like blooming.

I promise to notice the small signs of life in you before anyone else does, and to never rush you toward flowering before you're ready.

You taught me that love is mostly repetition — showing up, watering, waiting. I promise to keep showing up, for as long as we both shall grow.

You knelt next to me that day convinced we were wasting our time on a bush that had already given up, and I let you believe that, because I liked watching you refuse to quit.

What I didn't say then is that I wasn't really thinking about the roses — I was thinking about how lucky I was to have someone stubborn enough to fight for small, fragile things.

So today I promise to be that same kind of stubborn for you. When you feel brittle or burnt at the edges, I will not give up on what's still alive underneath.

I promise to bring you back to gardens like this one, again and again, because you taught me that growth is slow and that's not a flaw in it.

That bush bloomed again by summer, and I think it knew something we didn't yet — that being cared for, even imperfectly, is enough to bring anything back to life. I promise to keep caring for you imperfectly, and completely, for good.