This morning, as my husband handed me my plate of pancakes, he said, "And there's a knife over there, if you want to cut them up before you put the syrup on them." So ordinary. So commonplace. So insignificant.
Well, not really.
In that moment, I was struck with the beauty of being known. Really, truly known, in all the really big ways and in all the really small ways... and then really, truly loved with a fierce tenacity and constancy that soothes away the fears and the insecurities and doubts. The rest of the world doesn't love me like this. Even those I thought were good friends haven't loved me like this. Sometimes husbands don't love like this, even though they promised to.
But it is a precious and magnificent and wondrous thing to be so deeply known, and then accepted just the same... all the good and all the bad... all the pleasant and all the ugly... all of it.
And so I smiled this morning when my husband mentioned my cutting up the pancakes before the syrup goes on. He knows that about me. He knows that I like to do that. (You use less syrup that way, but with the same taste effect.) He made me a cup of black tea this morning, and brought it to me with "two scoops and a splash," just the way I like it... and I hadn't said a word.
Thank you, my sweet love, for this kind of faithfulness... for this kind of constancy... for this kind of commitment. You are truly an earthly reflection of the love Christ has for His church. Imperfect, yes, because you're human, but I see and know Him better because of you in my life.
And I'll stay here, with all your junk, too, because that's the beauty of marriage. It is my privilege... my honor... my joy. All the days of my life.