As I wandered from room to room, feeling the cool breeze on my skin, I realized marriage sometimes feels like this house. Familiar, comfortable, yet tight and wholly uncomfortable. And the very idea of opening a door to my husband feels like a vulnerable and risky move. Keeping the storm windows shut feels like a much safer venture. Especially after a fight or misunderstanding or hurt feelings. Keeping everything sealed feels much softer. During times of conflict our hearts close up, it curls itself into a tight ball. A closed heart is stuffed with selfishness, faulty assumptions, and judgement.
The setting sun refracted light off the water like thousands of broken mirrors. There I stood and took in the view, including the angry pink of Chris’ surgery scar, and I felt a gentle leaning into my soul. It was God and he was whispering. “It’s okay Heather. You do not have to be afraid anymore. It’s okay to let go. I’ve got this moment. I’ve got him and I have you.”
Boring is beautiful. Boring is ordinary. While my husband hasn’t chased me down in an airport to profess his undying love for me or shown up at my door in a limo prepared to fly me away from reality, he has walked with me hand in hand thousands of times around the sun. He’s gone to Wal-Mart at Mid-night for milk. He’s helped clean up puke and put money into savings instead towards his dream boat.