This Monday I got home from yoga ready to eat a bear. After an hour of back-extending stretches trying to get into the Wheel position, I was ready to devour about five pounds of steak, preferably freshly killed in a hunting expedition. As soon as I opened the door, glorious smells greeted me. My stomach growled and gurgled in anticipation. “Hey honey!” I heard my husband yell from the kitchen.

As I headed towards the kitchen to investigate, a beautiful sight welcomed me.

My man, in a apron–not just with dinner on the way, but with a batch of cookies in progress.

Chocolate chip cookies, his favorite dessert and one of my favorite breakfasts.

Dinner was a-sizzlin’: Polish sausage, onions and bell peppers, to be eaten over piles of steamy, fluffy white rice.

Based on our go-to Brats and Peppers recipe, it’s one of our recurring weeknight meals that never fails to please–especially once I sprinkle blue cheese all over everything.

It’s not why I love him. My baby could never set foot in the kitchen again, and I would still be his adoring wife.

But it certainly makes me feel loved. Cherished. Taken care of.

I will love my husband forever no matter what he does, no matter how many or how few cookies he bakes–by God’s grace, our promise to each other was unconditional love.

But I just have to say–there’s nothing like a man in an apron at the end of a busy day to make you feel like you’re living in a perfect world.