Fretting, feeling overwhelmed with tasks, I look up and see my husband come in the door. He's early, he's late, he's tired, he's hungry, he's frazzled, he's just stopping in for a moment before a night meeting: most important? He's here.
I stop washing the dishes, turn the stove off (lest I forget it's holdings), quiet the children's pressing requests, stop writing the email and I rush to him, embrace, kiss, hold, smile, capture his eyes, capture his heart. He's here.
It is a decision he makes daily, to stop the tide of unruly requests for his time and energies, to walk away from necessary and important tasks, hurting and needy people, a desk full of to do projects, and walks into our home, the least I can do is run to meet him.
It is a decision I make daily, to let my anxious heart be placed quietly in my Savior's hands, to humble my tasks before the enormity of my dear husband's desire to connect: to see someone who believes in him, to feel the warm embrace, to find refuge in my heart.
He's home.
It wasn't always like this. There was a day, a time in our marriage, when my needs stayed at the forefront of my mind and heart when I saw him. There were days, filled with frustration at his needs, where I actually welcomed him with my anger or even neglected to greet him at all. I was a self centered wife back then, my heart not submitted to God's desire and design, unable to see my husband's desperate hopes for a tender heart in this harsh and exacting world.
And, we were okay. We fought, there were tensions, I longed much, but he accommodated and danced around my moods and tried to fill my requests. He put up with me. He loved me. And I missed so many opportunities, I sorely missed the mark on a daily level. Yet, we trudged forward
Then the light came on. I started to blame myself, and not him, for my woes. I started to focus on being his support, of hearing his dreams and sacrificing for them, of letting go of my demanding ways, of becoming the woman who is subject to her husband as to the Lord
And then it was as the though the floodgates had broken, and the water rushed in. Our marriage righted in balance, as I allowed my femininity to respond to his masculinity, as I allowed the servanthood of Christ be the shining example for how I approached my husband; we connected on a deeper level of intimacy and sweetness than I thought possible, his strength grew with each interaction. It was the secret elixir to a positive marriage.
Now, seven or eight years later, I can hardly remember the woman I used to be, the thoughts I used to let swirl around in my mind: thoughts of him needing to be home on time, him needing to fill my needs, him needing to be something he is not; thoughts of me not fulfilling my potential when laundry, picking up, dishes, cooking, and discipline fill my days and nights.
These thoughts are but distant ghosts, small echoes, I can barely make out.
They are replaced with: gratefulness for a husband who wants to come home to me, and does, when his pressing schedule allows, a desire for my husband's needs to be meet, for his potential to be found, for his hopes to become realities, and excitement to hear, at the end of his day, his depth of heart, his simple worries, his hopes.
Daily, I set aside coffee time in the morning, stopping chores and children, to ask how his day looks, what I can pray for him, how I can find him in the midst of a busy list of tasks. Evenings, he gets the first fruits of my free time, that he might find a willing ear to his needs, a warm cup of tea, a happy believer in him.
Each day we dance together, finding each other in our opposite roles, finding ourselves in the respect and love coming our way. It is a dance that is delightful, and though I step on toes and stumble through moves, most times, it is so beautiful, the dance makes my heart full and my home warm.
I stop washing the dishes, turn the stove off (lest I forget it's holdings), quiet the children's pressing requests, stop writing the email and I rush to him, embrace, kiss, hold, smile, capture his eyes, capture his heart. He's here.
It is a decision he makes daily, to stop the tide of unruly requests for his time and energies, to walk away from necessary and important tasks, hurting and needy people, a desk full of to do projects, and walks into our home, the least I can do is run to meet him.
It is a decision I make daily, to let my anxious heart be placed quietly in my Savior's hands, to humble my tasks before the enormity of my dear husband's desire to connect: to see someone who believes in him, to feel the warm embrace, to find refuge in my heart.
He's home.
It wasn't always like this. There was a day, a time in our marriage, when my needs stayed at the forefront of my mind and heart when I saw him. There were days, filled with frustration at his needs, where I actually welcomed him with my anger or even neglected to greet him at all. I was a self centered wife back then, my heart not submitted to God's desire and design, unable to see my husband's desperate hopes for a tender heart in this harsh and exacting world.
And, we were okay. We fought, there were tensions, I longed much, but he accommodated and danced around my moods and tried to fill my requests. He put up with me. He loved me. And I missed so many opportunities, I sorely missed the mark on a daily level. Yet, we trudged forward
Then the light came on. I started to blame myself, and not him, for my woes. I started to focus on being his support, of hearing his dreams and sacrificing for them, of letting go of my demanding ways, of becoming the woman who is subject to her husband as to the Lord
And then it was as the though the floodgates had broken, and the water rushed in. Our marriage righted in balance, as I allowed my femininity to respond to his masculinity, as I allowed the servanthood of Christ be the shining example for how I approached my husband; we connected on a deeper level of intimacy and sweetness than I thought possible, his strength grew with each interaction. It was the secret elixir to a positive marriage.
As the church is subordinate to Christ, so wives should be subordinate to their husbands in everything
These thoughts are but distant ghosts, small echoes, I can barely make out.
They are replaced with: gratefulness for a husband who wants to come home to me, and does, when his pressing schedule allows, a desire for my husband's needs to be meet, for his potential to be found, for his hopes to become realities, and excitement to hear, at the end of his day, his depth of heart, his simple worries, his hopes.
Daily, I set aside coffee time in the morning, stopping chores and children, to ask how his day looks, what I can pray for him, how I can find him in the midst of a busy list of tasks. Evenings, he gets the first fruits of my free time, that he might find a willing ear to his needs, a warm cup of tea, a happy believer in him.
In the same way, you wives, be submissive to your own husbands so that even if any [of them] are disobedient to the word, they may be won without a word by the behavior of their wives, as they observe your chaste and respectful behavior. 1 Peter 3:1
