The sun was shining and it was a Sunday and that is when I decided it would be a good time for a fight. I don’t know that I made the decision consciously actually, but I decided it somehow or another.
He had been a little edgy all day. Something about a conference coming up, a lot of changes to implement at work the next few weeks, not nearly enough time on the golf course, and some continuing pain in his neck (that actually wasn’t me). It wouldn’t be difficult to push a little and get a reaction.
So I made my approach while he was writing an email, always the best time to begin a big discussion.
Hurtful words. Raised voices. And a bit of aggravation, but no satisfaction, in my heart.
We took a time out. Just like parents do with children, a moment of separation, of head-clearing, a time for reflection. I quickly realized the error of my ways in the provocation, he quickly realized how he didn’t intend to become so quickly frustrated, and we apologized. We forgave. We moved forward.
I’m not sure what I had set out to do, because who really, actually, wants to start a fight on a Sunday afternoon? I think the lack of anything but books (and not the dramatic, captivating kind) had driven me to push and prod. I think I sort of wanted to have a bit of actual drama. So at least I could feel something other than a tired brain. And like something other than this test matters.
We kissed and hugged and he headed out to meet a friend.
I got in the car. Turned on the keys and started in the direction of my usual caffeine fix. Soy latte. Iced. Because it’s all the better for studying. And after my unsuccessful start to the afternoon, I knew it was time I got myself into action.
We had already reconciled. Peace was with us. But something struck me as I drove.
He can yell. He can fight back when I provoke. He can ignore me and never again take out the trash. He can hurt my feelings. Or he can buy me a “just because” gift on Saturday and cook me dinner so I can study. He can write me the sweetest card I have ever read as encouragement to me to keep pressing on.
But not one bit of it affects how much I love him. I love him when I’m mad. I love him when I’m sad. I love him if he hurts my feelings or doesn’t speak in gentleness. I love him when he is angry. I love him when he struggles.I love him when we watch movies in our pajamas. I love him when he holds my hand in church. I love him every single moment of every single day. What he does, has no effect on my love for him.
And then it hit me. In a bigger way than I think I have ever really grabbed onto before. God loves me so much more than that. Right there in the drivethrough at the coffee shop with a sliver Toyota Tundra and a tatoo'ed man in front of me. He loves me when I read my Bible. He loves me when I act as a loving wife. He loves me when I honor my parents. He loves me when I call out to him in desperation. He loves me when I speak angrily towards others. He loves me when my life does less than bring glory to his name. He has loved me through each and every moment of my being. He loved me even when I was not redeemed.
Oh how thankful I am, Father, that you gave me such a great understanding of your love for me today. For loving me through all the breaths of my life. And thank you for marriage. For love, for forgiveness, for a picture of you in this daily living.
I'm here. And I'm still writing,
5 comments:
Oh Katie this was awesome!!
Beautiful post Katie!
True, true! Amen sister!!!
beautiful Katie!
Oh, what a post, Katie! I loved reading every word of it...I can relate to it so!
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