H goes to bed before me lately. Tired is a common word in our conversations. I put my phone on the charger next the lamp on the nightstand. He’s lying on my side, warming up my spot. He loves me this way for as long as I can remember, even when he is tired.
After I wash my face, complete the bedtime ritual, he looks up from his Kindle to see my eyes when I approach the bed to crawl in. “How are you,” he asks.
It’s not a casual question. He’s looking for the truth.
I hesitate to respond. Because sometimes the truth of what we hide on the inside, when self-doubt enters through the back door, it isn’t pretty. I vacillate. Count the cost of revealing the truth about the lies I have just told myself.
That I feel insignificant when I read about what others do to advance the Kingdom, wonder if I do enough. And really, it’s not just about sharing my faith where I come up short, the accusations shout when it comes to parenting, being a wife, a friend, a housekeeper, and a writer. Am I enough? Doing enough?
I say it out loud; tell him about the fragments of doubt swirling in mind. He throws his hands up in exasperation over my refusal to believe the truth he’s told me repeatedly for twenty-three years. That I am beautiful just the way I am, and I am enough.
Comparison is a sneaky diversion, a fork in the road on the way to destiny. And his speaking the truth, it keeps me from wrong turns and roadblocks to hope. Love wipes away the fog hanging between conviction and condemnation. It clarifies my blurry reflection.
It’s hard to explain how love from a man that stands sturdy through wavering days and wondering can transform a girl into woman. How fragments become pieces of beauty when tended by a farmer of truth who trusts in the power of redemption above sainthood to grow a person.
Marriage isn’t about meeting needs, but laying them down and forgetting you ever had them.
When I crawl into the warm spot he left on my side of the bed, curl up next to him and hold on to his arm, laughter pours from my belly. All that guilt I carried into the room, it looks hilarious and out of place laying there beside love.
On this Valentine’s Day and every day, may you know that you are enough. Because Christ is enough. And He loves you.
Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose with the word prompt: Love.