so I can write about it.
But it doesn't come.
And here's what I decided to do: write anyway.
There's been sickness. Weariness. Irrational irritability. Hormones are suspect. Flu viruses may play a part. Brokenness, woundedness, yes. And at the bottom of it all is the wondering, can I do this?? Really?
Love, I know, is a choice. Someone told me that, once. Or maybe I read it somewhere. Poetic, isn't it? Bracing in a pleasant, theoretical way.
But then there I am, folding his underwear when I am furious at him for being himself and not the implausibly perfect version of himself I've invented. Cooking his breakfast when his touch makes me bristle. Looking at him in the bathroom mirror, trying to smile ....
But look! Just typing this is tilting the balance. I can hardly think of what annoys me for the shaming flood of things I realize he does for me. {And so, once again, the victory comes through a step into mid-air, by faith. And gratitude, the footing for it all, shows up sturdy.}
He fills the pellet stove daily, to keep me warm.
(and keeps it set higher for me than he would for himself).
He feeds the chickens in all kinds of weather, trading my kitchen scraps for their eggs.
He faithfully goes to work - on days when he's excited about his job, and on days when he'd rather be anywhere but there - to provide for us.
He prays for me.
He thanks me for breakfast, every day.
He snuggles close at my request, to keep me warm.
He purchased, cleaned, assembled & cleaned again, prepped & re-prepped a site, and cleaned yet again a pool "for the children" (when it was really me, maybe, all along, who so wanted a place to swim).
And he put it in the greenhouse so we could swim pre-season.
He comforts me when I am sad.
He counsels me when I ask his advice.
He encourages me to try new things.
He fixes my washing machine, my kitchen faucet, the wiring in the space heater, and whatever else needs to be fixed - not because he's experienced,
but because he loves us and can learn.
He loves me enough to let me grow, even by making mistakes.
Even when they affect him.
He forgives me. And keeps loving me.
And there's the win I sought. Gratitude brings it, as usual.
"Love never fails."
thanks for sharing, in the hard times. love you.
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