My eyes were closed. My hands on each side of his smooth, freshly shaved face. I love touching his always soft skin. His forehead was gently pressed against mine. The more than thirty different conversations in the room had forsaken my ears. There was silence, except for the sounds of our breathing that seemed to intensify.
The most intense pressure was building within me. It was an eruption of understanding of the love between my imperfect self and this imperfect man, which continues to evolve. It was the first time I had ever been COMPLETELY lost in anything other than worship.
It was intensely beautiful. It was intensely difficult.
It was our first visit in a week, and our first visit as a family in the new year. We were all overly excited and starving for each others affection and attention. We hugged and talked, played a board game and cards. We talked some more.
As the boys ate their pizza lunch we began discussing our vulnerable hearts, opening ourselves wide for potential wounds. I was struck with a dagger I didn’t see coming. It wasn’t meant as a malicious strike. A simple and gentle confession of my beloved’s heart and needs left me feeling as a failing wife. My pride swelled and so did the passion.
Before I knew it I was walking away from the table for a reprieve. With only two options, I headed to the bathroom for a breath of not so fresh air. I wasn’t ready to walk out on the visit.
I returned to the table and the heated discussion. We were both eager to lead the conversation which led to interruptions, poor listening, and deep frustration. My stubbornness shut me down, and left my reconciliation pursuing husband out in the cold feeling defeated. It was obvious in his silent and now physically distant body.
Two hours remained in our weekly five-hour visit.
I invited him to partake in our daily devotion reading. He invited me to a peace agreement first. My stubbornness said, “Fine, I’ll read it alone today.” He gently took the Bible from my hands and was insistent we get right first. My flesh wanted my own way. My heart repeated two words, “one accord.”
I wanted the Christ in me to win way more than I wanted my flesh to win. Quickly repenting I drew my husband in to a tight warm hug. I rubbed the back of his head that rested on my shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I love you. I’m sorry.”
What had been a fight to drive our points home had become a fight to get in the most apologies and kisses. Love was flowing like a river pounded with torrential downpours. It became overwhelming. It metastasized. I wanted so badly, more than anything, more than ever, to show my husband how deeply I love him.
I wanted to makeup with him the way a man and his wife should. It was excruciating.
My husband and I have been married eight months and thirteen days. We still do not know each other physically. It is one of the most insanely beautiful and painful things I’ve ever endured. No, it IS the most beautiful and painful thing I have ever endured.
The entirety of this union is upheld by the strong, powerful, gracious hands of God. The entirety of this is far above me. I fall deeper in love with God. I fall deeper in love with my husband. I fall deeper into understanding of the tremendous favor I have poured out on me day after day.
Some looking from the outside are disgusted and confused. I am in awe. I sing praises. I confess, God, Your thoughts are so much higher than mine. Your ways are so much higher than mine. Blessed be Your name forever and ever. Thank You. Your grace is more than sufficient for me. I will ever love and trust You.