we washed each other's feet at our wedding. water pours and love swells, a physical promise to love each other for always.
i remember a shower together, he laughingly insists i hog the hot streams, his hands wrapped in wonder around my already swelling belly. we begin to know the tickling sensation of those things that can wedge our distractions from another, those little flutter kicks that turn into nursing babe and toddling walker and finally brothers three. those little men who need their mama. the big man who needs his wife.
a woman can feel torn from all the needing.
a discussion with college girlfriend about the book A Severe Mercy, and how sacrificial love could be neatly tied into the phrase "a glass of water in the night."
a more recent discussion with a friend who has observed that staying at home with little ones and fighting her own selfish desires often looks like her husband helping her more than she helps him. yet we were created to be helpmeets, and long for that kind of love to come naturally and easily.
i love that my husband fits my soul so well, he knows me inside and out, woos me even as he rough-houses what our love made. i love that our Father saw fit to give us to each other, rib returning to rightful owner. we are imperfect. we journey on in our Story, but one truth to hold us fast: i am my Beloved's and he is Mine.
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