Anniversary

"What is it that holds you accountable when you're tempted to do the wrong thing and there's no one around who would really care if you did something that doesn't align with your values?"  We're in the kitchen, snacking.  Eli leans against the counter, crunches another bite of chips.  Isaiah retrieves a container from the refrigerator, then turns to me.

"You know the letter Dad wrote me?"  Zae pauses to open the lid and reaches in for a chicken strip.  "Well, whenever I get tempted, I just take that letter out of my wallet and glance at it.  Or, sometimes, I just remember it's in my pocket and that helps me."

A letter of affirmations.  From his dad.  To remind him who he is.

~~~

This man that I married 18 years ago *today...

Several years ago we attended the wedding of some friends.  Pastor Joe addressed the bride first, admonishing her from Ephesians 5.  Then, he turned to the groom, saying his name and stopping for a dramatic pause.  He smiled at the groom, mischievously.  The audience chuckled in anticipation.

"Your bride is going to follow your leadership.  Now for your role.  You're going to love her like Christ loved the Church...  And that will mean that you're going to die to yourself in a thousand little ways every day."  It was a lighthearted moment loaded with meaning.

And, LeRoy...  Well, he does this dying to self "in a thousand little ways every day."  And it really is in the little things, isn't it?

A look, a phone call, a word of encouragement and support, a listening ear.  The cup of coffee he brings me first thing in the morning.  The camaraderie and inside jokes.  The knowing wink across a room.


Gratitude:
118. Message at the front desk of the resort, "Mrs. Olson, your husband called.  He says 'Happy Anniversary.'"

119. That my sweet husband sent me off on a weekend women's retreat at a resort in Garmisch and then planned an all-out "party weekend" with some other dads and all the children.

120. For the father that LeRoy is to our boys-becoming-men and his growing-up-girl.

121. The way that LeRoy lives out his leadership.

122. Learning love.

123. Being loved.

124. Learning to follow and how LeRoy makes the journey a grand adventure.

125. 18 years.

126.  The anticipation of being in LeRoy's arms by this afternoon.

*November 20th.

Supreme Bliss

Top o'the day to ya! 

Two weeks ago we hiked in a majestic gorge, the ice-blue water with it's deafening roar rushing down the mountain.  We sipped hot chocolate, shared a ginormous cream puff, and rode back down through the foothills of the Alps in a horse-drawn carriage.  We descended deep into the middle of a mountain on a train of sorts to experience the Berchtesgaden Salt Mines.  And pored over family letters and stories in Mozart's house in Salzburg, Austria.

Last weekend LeRoy and I celebrated 17 years of marriage.  We bought our very first bedroom set, complete with our very first brand new mattress. 

Today we ate lunch at Murphy's, a quaint pub along the waterfront on the Dingle Peninsula here in Kerry, Ireland.  We arrived hungry and chilled, sauntered in and found a table next to the fireplace, the heat not only warming us on the outside, but the flames warming our spirits, too.  The four women sitting nearby chatted in Gaelic, their merriment contagious.  I had a large bowl of seafood chowder, (something I haven't had since mine and LeRoy's trip to Santa Cruz, California some many, many years ago), while the children had chicken and chips and LeRoy ate chicken and pasta.  And the tea.  The hot tea was perfection!  Just your ordinary tea, mind you.  But I thought I was going to burst into tears.  How is it possible to experience such supreme bliss!?

After satisfying our ravishing appetites we visited the aquarium down the street where we stared wide-eyed in awe at God's extraordinary creations.  We stood forever in front of the shark and stingray tank, laughing and chit chatting about how it seemed they were showing off for us.  Eventually we sauntered over to the tank where we got to pet the stingrays.  Pet! the. stingray!  Imagine!  There was one in particular that was like a frisky puppy, following our hands and acting as though he couldn't get enough of the petting.

Over three years ago, LeRoy asked me if I ever wanted a new wedding ring someday.  (There's a story behind the wedding ring set we presently own.)  I remember I smiled and said, "Yes.  If we ever get the chance to visit Ireland, I would like to pick out a new ring while we're there."  So, I'm sitting here typing at the Dingle Village Library while we wait for them to size the ring I just picked out. 

My husband.  He's like this.  He treats me like a queen.  Nothing blesses him more than when he gets a chance to bless me and his children.

"I love you."  I say to him hoping he'll know how my heart is offered to him fully, completely in those three little words.

"I love you more," he says back.  I stop what I'm doing, let him hold me, look deep into his water-blue eyes.  This game of who can love the other one better.

"I think you do," I finally say.  "You seem to be so good at it."  He smiles ever so slightly, more question than amusement.  "Really.  You just love me so well," I tell him.

Supreme bliss.  These moments that blend into one worshipful moment after another of a God Who loves lavishly.  Who loves relationship.  Who creates.  For depth with one another.  With Him.  I'm overwhelmed.  Overwhelmingly grateful.   

My Beloved

"I don't know." I sit defeated, watching his eyes intently. Hoping he might have an answer to his own question. "What about you? How do you think we can get the intimacy back in our marriage?" I hit ball back to his court, a sort of blameshifting on my part. Feelings of contempt knock ever more incessant at my heart's door, threatening to bang it down. I lift a silent prayer, Spirit, please answer for me. I'm weak, vulnerable. I want to say mean things.

The room feels suffocating. He leans against kitchen counter, across the room, worlds away. "Maybe we should take a break from this conversation."

"Maybe." There are no more words. We've begun the New Year with a fight in proportion to Time's Square at midnight on January first. Except without the well-wishes. Painful exchanges like confetti littering heart's floor.

Like cordial roommates who more or less tolerate one another, we move through the next couple of days. Each person quietly contemplating the next right move.

"Let's get up together tomorrow morning -- before the children. Just you and me," his words slow, pauses deliberate, heavy with meaning, "to spend time together." I wrap longing arms around him, pull him close in mutual embrace.

And then.

And. then. He walks in room, resolutely, this morning. While I sit at computer, reading e-mails. I didn't think he'd really get up with me. Yet, he sits down beside me, so determined that his presence causes me to turn my full attention to him. And he gives me the gift, (the one so huge that I put off asking for it for Christmas until the last minute and even then said it with I-know-I-don't-deserve-something-so-special undertones). Quality time. He looks right at me and says, "I'll get up at 5 AM with you every morning to work out."

Then.

He takes me downstairs, to the kitchen. I make us a pot of coffee while he opens the book Intimacy -- A 100-Day Guide to Lasting Relationships by Douglas Weiss, Ph.D. Reads words out loud,

"The picture [of Christ and the church] is of the hero and Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who loved and died for His bride so that she might be with Him forever. This word picture closes with Jesus coming back for His bride and hosting a great banquet to celebrate their eternal intimacy. God is a romantic...

...I want to savor the scent of her personality, the moments of her fury and the playfulness of her spirit. I am committed to intimacy with both my God and my wife -- and this committment is not halfhearted."

He pauses to look up at me, his eyes wet with emotion, tells me the author has expressed what he feels for me.

And.

Just when I think I couldn't possibly love this man sitting across from me anymore than I've already loved him... I find my hopelessly romantic spirit, (and often fickle heart), falling head over heels in love with my hero, a hopeless romantic himself.

"My beloved is mine, and I am his." ~Song of Solomon 2:16