Thursday, June 27, 2013


I want to write this in a very honest way. Aside from my beloved, you’re the only person I can ever be entirely myself with.

I have mixed feelings about arguments. On the one hand, it is a way to release energy and speak about issues without boundary. A way to reset love. After all, it is so easy to get used to everyday love and contentedness that it feels routine.

But on the other hand, it is an ugly thing. Doesn’t every child want parents who never fight? Doesn’t everyone want perfect love?

I probably have a close-to perfect love with my husband. People often tell us we are ideal for one another, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s more than I need deserve. Still, after 4 years, there's a remarkable passion for one another. A certainty. A place of belonging. Too, I love how rarely we argue. And when we do, it’s gentle and delicate on his end. His love is unfailingly patient, kind, and without judgement. He’s teaching me so much about true love that I never knew before.


1 Corinthians 13:4-8 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.


When we get so busy that all the little things have gotten bottled up and compressed tight, my anxiety creeps back into my nights, as it does, wrapping itself around my thoughts with its wiry black fingers. I can’t sleep with the fear of projects unfinished, work emails unanswered, kids’ social events unaddressed, mistakes I’ve made. He feels me tossing and turning in the middle of the night and will often murmur in sleep “what’s wrong?” I say nothing. Rather, it all spills out of my mouth in an ugly mess of slander and belittling the next morning, and I am so exhausted that I do what I do. I shut down and trap myself in my head. The hopeless, messy kind, spiked too with hot anger.

Then suddenly a kind voice in my head reminds me that I am the one in control of how I feel. That’s right, I am. I sit up from our bed, and wipe my wet face on my wrists. I emerge from our bedroom and he always pulls me close. As he always does. He holds my face in his hands tenderly, giving me his full gaze, and apologizes for things beyond his control. I feel the highness of love, backdropped against the recent anger and I’m glad for moments like these where I can feel fully. We recognize each other again.

Though I am unsettled at times, he walks me through (with his gentle words) the ways in which his will help my problems disappear. He wraps his long arms around me so I feel as safe as a child held by a loving parent and so I can escape from complex adult worries.

Life is good. It always is. But it helps to share it with the right people. I’m learning to appreciate it more every day.

This is the way it always is with us, no matter how big or small the disagreement. We can never stay mad at one another for long and never overnight. We say sorry, we talk it through with new understanding and we melt into one another again.

I love our love.

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