Friday, February 18, 2011
To Have..To Hold...
As he waves the cup of coffee beneath my nose I realize he heard me stirring and worked with a heart full of love to get it to me at just the right time.
The front door opens and closes as he steps into the dawn to warm up the car in -24 degrees of winter.
He comes back in on a draft of frigid air, leaning close, chilled lips kissing a slice of my cheek where it lies exposed... while the rest of me burrows deep.
The day, a step away from beginning for me..has been well on its way for him.
There he goes, walking out our bedroom door singing a home-made ditty as he navigates the stairs in the soft morning light.... "daylight, daylight... when I go out the door and come home at night..daylight..daylight." I hear a soft chuckle, I see his grin in my sleepy minds eye.
His joy in the increasing light as Winter slowly gives way to the encroaching... deliberate... unstoppable advance of Spring.
His joy reminding me of his toil, his discipline, his relentless pursuit of an income that feeds, shelters and wraps me in warm comforters and steaming cups of coffee.
The door slams. I hear steps and the sound of our ancient VW driving down the snow laden street fade into silence.
One of his sons peeks around my door and says good morning..asking how I slept before disappearing into the nether regions of the awakening house.
I step from my warm cocoon and settle at my desk noticing that he has turned on my computer for me.
I log in and smile.
His youngest son arrives announcing he's hungry then disappears in the direction of the kitchen.
Minutes later he races up the stairs, plate in hand delivering poached eggs on whole wheat toast with a side of lightly seared ham...cracked pepper decorating the top just the way I like it.
His eldest at home heads for the basement to start his day with a workout.
They gather in an hour..his sons...on our bed...our marriage bed...as I read aloud Extreme Devotion followed by the next chapter in Hind's Feet on High Places.
The Martyrs break their hearts and settle their convictions.
"The only sadness is not being fully given to Jesus."
His sons say that's what they want to be...fully given....His sons....
Much Afraid's journey has them laughing one minute, nodding solemnly the next. Cheering at the defeat of her enemies, shaking their heads at her fearful summations...all agreeing: we are just like her !
Comments fly at the marvelous beauty and fierceness of the Shepherd...at the same time declaring that they too want to bear the cost..and accept with joy his will.
"He will do it mom..he will make us his, he will take us through and set our feet on high places."...they say with fire in their eyes...
His sons...they fill my heart....
It is a long, long, perilous road that must be traveled in the making of a man.
This man who wakes...leaves, returns..and does it again.
He is God's gift.
Priceless and mysterious. Infuriating and complex. Known and yet unknown.
His being here in the midst of my life ...my heart has to grow to contain him.
Worthy of honor and respect is he..this man of mine.
Glad am I, so glad, he shares the road with me, growing and learning and expanding..
Paths full of suffering, sorrow, joy...moments full of the miraculous... these I share with him.
Blessed am I that he exists within the range of my view...the sound of my voice...the reach of my shaking hands...the touch of my lips...the breath in my mouth...the beat of my heart as he holds me close.
He comes through the door while it is still light, lays aside the trapping of his trade and seeks me out.
He reaches for me, nuzzles my neck with his scruffy cheek and whispers (loud enough for his sons to hear if they were near) that he loves me ...me...that I am beautiful...that all he wants to do is carry me off...forget about supper....whispers things that still make me blush after 22 years.
His flaws, that seem so large at times, the ones that my petty judgments feed and nurture in selfish oblivion, magnified in my lonely dark hours of the soul, fade away the more I remember, memorize and grab hold of the treasure that he truly is.
He is mine.
Gifted to me in spite of myself.