(Dear readers: as our family currently walks through a stressful season, I thought I’d share this bit of my personal journaling from 2 years ago, in the spring of 2012, while we were expecting our third child, Canaan. Life’s curveballs have always been framed in the light of the life that we choose to lead together, and always will be again, in the years to come.)
I step in the door to a dark entry way, hushed and aware of the sleeping children just beyond the hallway in the small house that we currently call home. It smells like the chili that Chris made for supper and it smells like love. My foot had an unfortunate run-in with a heavy object, and while waiting for doctors and x-rays he was holding down the fort at home making supper, then shooed me out the door for a girls’ night after making me a batch of kettle corn to take and share.
He loves me more than I even deserve, and he keeps showing up.
I stay up way too late with pregnancy insomnia knowing that he will be letting me sleep late in the morning. I moan and I groan and I sometimes just plain forget that even a hard day is a day more than I deserve. This grace, this warm feeling I get when I walk in the door and he smiles with tired eyes and asks if I’m coming to bed.
It’s just comfortable and it’s truth because it’s what we’re meant to be, old married folks rapidly approaching their thirties with the babes and the minivan and the cultural cliches that all cause us to just be stupidly, counter-culturally happy.
The happy is not from some deep spiritual sense but rather just from simple being together and laughing at inside jokes (or my dancing). We are not promised happiness, we are promised joy, but when you are happy too it’s a lovely gift. A messy and hard and somehow-it-all-just-fits and we cry after laughing so hard kind of thing.
Comfort and home are elusive concepts when you move into different houses and communities during your marriage the way some people change their underwear. It feels like forever and it feels like yesterday that we moved to Tiny Town.
It feels like home because he’s here doing life with me. I stare at two humans that came from my own body and I wonder how I could be anyone apart from them. We are a family, we are the essence of community and warmth and love wrapped up like a gift when it’s not even your birthday.
I roll over in bed and cause minor earthquakes as I heave my baby belly over and he sighs deep in his sleep and his foot finds mine and his presence is comfort.
His life and mine together are a thing that’s only ours.
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