He is slumped in the chair opposite me-exhausted. I, too, am slumped and tired, feeding the child our love made. Our love made. Our love sits in the room between us, thin and dry as the air that surrounds. We have just stated that we are tired of being thin with each other, thin with the world. There is so much fullness around us, and we have moments of shared laughter that remind us of when our love was full and fat and happy...but this is not one of those moments.
I look at his face, this man I love. This man I chose, and I choose each day. Lately our love has been made up of boxes and bills and laundry and "Can you fix this?," and "Can you remember to do this?". Errands and dust and distance. It blurs the edges of romantic love.
It feels hot, stretched and tight. It has been a while, but we used to enjoy hiking together. I think of this as he sits so far away on the opposite side of the room. It feels like we are hiking now. And I am tired. The hike may have been more than we can handle, but we have no choice but to keep going because we KNOW we have a destination worth getting to. We have sat down to rest. The sun is too hot, making my lips parch and I am sweaty and I HATE being sweaty! We are both covered in dust and I see that his lips are parched, too. Then, only as a man in love can, he offers me a sip from his canteen. Hope. When one of us runs low, the other reaches into the pack and finds more hope in the canteen. And when one tires, the other offers sip after sip from our own canteen until the other can find the drive to continue. I have long romanticized this process calling it a dance, but in reality there are no soft dresses and beautiful music and men in tuxedos and candlelight. There is just me and him and our love-dusty and tired-but still sparkling underneath it all. And if we can just offer each other a taste of it, we can make it until the sun sets and the earth cools and we reach a place of rest.
This week marriage has come up in many conversations. I think on these as I look at my man. I ask a lot of him. He is my hero, out slaying dragons and bringing home the bacon. Killing spiders and doing the heavy lifting. Tender kisses for our daughter, and silly voices and affectionate hugs for me. He is quiet and deep, and fun and ridiculous, and strong and weak and MINE. He loves me and I love him. He's worth a little hike in the desert.
"It (love) always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perserveres. Love never fails."
(1 Corinthians 13:7-8a)
Thanks again for another stellar piece of your heart. I can't decide whether to pick up my pen and write because I'm inspired, or pack it up and put it away because you've just eclipsed anything I could possibly produce! LOL.
ReplyDeleteThis is not only luxurious prose, it's life-giving proclamation--good theology, good psychology (which, BTW, all good theology is--and vice versa...) :) Now patch up your blisters and lace up your boots. Remember, Cinderella, that the castle sits at the top of the mountain, and you don't want to be late for the dance when it DOES happen.
Love to you and your prince/hiking partner.