michelle

let me tell you about my wife. she is very beautiful. I love her so much, and I know that she loves to get notes and writings from me. it makes her feel loved like few other things. I used to do little poems and prosey things and such that would make us both cry. so why dont I wrote her stuff more often? I'm not sure. I'm almost afraid to ask.

yet I've thought about it for a little while, and I think I'm afraid to write because I'm not sure what will come out. we've lived through so much crap -- she has fibromyalgia, a chronic illness -- that I'm afraid that anything I write will spew unkind notions. not that I'm mad at her for being sick (which in my opinion would be worse than stupid). maybe I'm upset that we're stuck in this and there hasn't been a way out for years now. maybe I had so many hopes and dreams for us, and I'm mourning their loss. or perhaps I haven't mourned, and I need to. or perhaps I'm mad at myself more than anything else, because of my selfish daily reactions to her unending needs.

or maybe the problem is evident even in this writing. I started out: "let me tell you about my wife" and then I proceed to talk about myself and my issues. why don't I just look at her instead of looking after myself? don't I believe that she will look after me? have I learned nothing these past 4 years?

I have a clear memory from when we were dating. I think it's clear because it was one of those moments that you are sure you're going to want to remember. we had been dating for a bit, and even talked of marriage. we'd survived a near-breakup that drove me to guiness for a spell. this evening we were hanging out at the cabin, just sitting on the couch talking about whatever. she was having a hard time with her health at the time, and as we talked I realized that she had various long-term struggles for a long time. the kind that your average doctor just shrugs at and writes a perscription for whatever pill seems to be working lately. it was then that I realized I was at a junction of sorts. I knew that I loved her and wanted to love her for the rest of my life. yet it was painfully obvious that she may never be physically healthy. that may sound harsh, but in my heart I knew that this was a distinct possibility, if not quite likely.

and in my heart I knew I had a choice: love her through and in this, or walk away now -- away from the all-too-early ravages of sin and death in her body, away from broken-hearted dreams, away from the road of pain and tears.

God chose to bless my soul that day, and He let me love her. the choice was stark: I chose to love. at the time, I had no idea what that was going to look like, and even now, it's just a shadow. die to myself? I'm still learning. dying is rather painful. patient? kind? etc? sometimes.

yet do I pursue her heart? do I search out ways to lift her up? oh, my heart aches to, yet I feel stuck too often. perhaps the key is this: just as I dont feel much like worshiping God if I've forgotten who He is and what He has done, I believe that I will actively love her only as I remember and rejoice in who she is, in who God has made and re-made and is re-making every day.

so let me tell you about my wife. she is indeed very beautiful. in more ways than I even realize, and I hope to further uncover her beauty as I continue to marvel at her. praise God for making such an amazing person, and for giving her to me to have and to hold.