It’s 6:12 am. The sun is still making its rise above the trees. The rooster is delighted in morning, and calling for all to rise. The birds celebrate the new day in glorious harmony.
I sit in my office and attempt to put my thoughts together in an organized manner. I have to get out the brewing conflict between my head and my heart, not sure where to begin.
The last five hours I spent with my newlywed have become lost in the weeks other one hundred and sixty-three. I look for those lost hours, hoping to recall his touch. I attempt to visualize his perfect smile that lights up his big brown eyes. I long to have those eyes looking deep into mine. I yearn to taste his sweet lips on mine. I close my eyes and imagine the comfort of his strong, loving arms wrapped around me. I can faintly recall the way he runs his fingers through my hair, singing softly in my ear, encouraging my rest there with him. My ears beg to hear his laugh.
Sometimes I forget these treasures of mine. Sometimes I wonder if I suppress their memory to attempt to simultaneously suppress the pain of missing them.
I need a refreshing.
My refreshment costs a lot.
Sometimes the bank is empty.
Today it seems overdraft.
The last couple of days have been emotionally charged. Attempts of celebration fell short to depression. America rejoiced in freedom, I pleaded God for it. I know He has already made me free (John 8:36), but I am chained to the man I became one with. I love being chained to him. I want to be chained to him. But, I want to be chained in freedom with him; free to chase one another across the green grass as the smell of the burning grill penetrates the air, free to hike, hand in hand, the trails at the local state park, free to paddle board the Susquehanna, free to enjoy the presence of family gathering…together.
I make every effort to grasp each blessed moment with passion and joy, without my partner, my best friend, my heart. I give the first fruits of my morning to being filled by the Spirit, so these efforts become more fruitful. The love in my heart responds to each blessing with, “I wish Jacob were here,” and the moment dulls.
They seem to only be lived at half existence.
My heart aches a little bit more. With each ache there is a withdrawal from the bank of endurance. I strive for an attitude of gratitude but am at times found hidden in the weeds of covetousness. Watching others experience the joy of life together is excruciating. Temptation to quit on this path predestined for me becomes overwhelming. Ideal.
I have to take that half existence and make it sound full, because the one I love will vicariously live it all through me.
That’s a lot of pressure.
To be a persons escape makes you feel like somewhat of a defibrillator. Even defibrillators get worn and become unusable.
I desperately crave my five hours.
I crave even more the giver of life. I crave the One who can fill me up and help me persevere this difficult terrain of marriage, made more difficult by the boulders of imprisonment. I crave my Healer who is able to give life to these dry and weary bones. I crave He who renews my mind and cleanses my heart.
More of Him. Less of me.
The more there is of Him, the more life there is in me. The more life there is in me, the more life there is in my marriage.
Love is sacrifice.
I give myself away.