Thursday, September 24, 2015

What I Really Want for Our Marriage

Sometimes it seems that all days are long. I sit feeding the baby before putting him in bed, letting the book close in my lap, while Curious George plays in the kitchen where the older boys eat a snack. His strong legs lift the ottoman off the rug and run the vacuum across it.

Not because I asked. Because it needed vacuumed.

He sacrifices his time and resources for our well-being. He works his days because he loves it and to keep us in this home where we play and learn. He rarely asks for anything- occasionally some new sunglasses to put around his shaved head or a sandwich when he comes home for lunch.

He's mine. I said "yes" the day he asked me to marry him. That day when we were still teenagers and only knew we wanted to do life together. I was barely out of my teens the day we said "I do" in a simple ceremony in December.

We moved easily into life together. Homework because I was still in school, dinners that we cooked together in our tiny apartment where we didn't have curtains. We watched movies on the air mattress in front of the TV on Friday nights and slept until 11 the next morning in the cozy bed that had been handed down for generations.

We disagreed. We still do. Two different people moving together through life are bound to. But I went into each day with him with one resolve- to give him more.

More grace when he messes up. More benefit of the doubt when I feel offended. More respect than I give to another. He's been the best of things to me and I want to give him my best. 

It's easiest to give him my worst.

To save the soft answers for the woman at church that hurts my feelings. To keep the patience for the children on a good day or for the slow, grumbling cashier at the store. To consider the emotions of a stranger that cares nothing for me while making assumptions about his intentions. 

I want to save my best for him. I want to nurture a love that's holding hands walking into the restaurant or the hospital, into riches or want. I want to give more to this one whose story is intertwined with mine and not to others who only play a secondary role. 

Because one motivation is out of love and the other is to be impressive. He knows me too well to be impressed; he sees my best and my worst. I can think that those who don't know me well are impressed with me. Maybe they are sometimes. 

The impressions are fake. They don't see me when I'm tired and the kids have been up all night and I've not had any coffee. They don't see me roll my eyes or raise my voice or apologize for sarcastic answers. 

He does. He chooses me anyway. 

And every morning I choose him. 

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