Sometimes
when I look at you
I can scarcely breathe.
Even still.
Sometimes.
And though we met; becoming best friends.
And married.
I thought. At first. A wedding.
The most important day.
And as important as it was.
Walking down the aisle.
Becoming one.
Now I know.
And sometimes
when I look at you.
I can scarcely breathe.
Even still.
Sometimes.
Because even better the years. Pressing on.
That aisle taking us places we never knew.
Our children, so long in coming, now grown.
The romance of a look.
A quiet understanding.
Of the years. The travels.
Experiences beyond capturing on a page.
Known only to us.
And sometimes
when I look at you.
I can scarcely breathe.
Even still.
Sometimes.
An empty nest now.
Romance continuing.
In unexpected places.
More recently. Surgery for me.
And you. Hunched up all night on a window seat.
Allaying my fears. Comforting. Helping.
Morning coming hard.
Walking the corridors.
Funny looking socks and hospital gown and hair askew; dragging an IV.
Taking your arm. Slowing your gait.
You wrinkled and tired.
Us both. Grateful.
And when we rounded that corner.
With a visitor calling out.
"Looks like you're walking down the aisle."
We laughed.
The absurdity of the idea.
Post-op disheveled.
But he saw it.
This stranger.
The reason for aisle walking.
On that day. Every day.
Shimmering through the ugly. The ordinary.
In unexpected places.
This love.
A gift undeserved.
A mystery unsolvable.
An adventure unpredictable.
Life together.
And that is why.
Still.
When I look at you
I can scarcely breathe.
Some mornings the moving is slow. Heart downcast. Relationship in jeopardy. Wondering the whys.
The complexities of getting along, understanding; perspective gone awry.
And the feeling. Misunderstood and victimized and unable to unravel the hurt.
A fly left hanging in a web. Flapping in the breeze. For all to see.
Caught like a trap. Defenseless. Hanging.
Continuing slow. Morning chores and rituals and the checking. For an answer to a plea, to a note sent in love; speaking blessing and wanting back something good from the messy.
Roaming. Through the empty house. The morning.
This slow sad juxtaposed against golden beauty splicing the hardwood floor.
But denying the beauty; the calling of something better.
Headed toward the pit. Choosing despair. Feeling condemnation.
Please. An alternative.
Something more than beauty, self-determination, busyness. All helping.
But not fixing.
Again and again, going back; to the pit. Suffering.
Unable to shame myself. Others. Into better.
Not wanting to.
Wanting greatly; a wildly courageous and love filled life.
Living fully and redemptive.
It takes love. To overcome.
It takes love to live this way.
It takes remembering. This love. Always present. Never leaving.
Make no mistake.
Not the enabling, wimpy, people-pleasing, self-serving kind of love.
Not the pathetic preacher character portrayed in movies.
Not the pie-in-the-sky kind of disgusting gooey sweetness.
No, not at all.
I'm talking gutsy. Powerful.
I'm talking strong. Life-changing. Empowering.
Like the wind and the sun arguing. The stronger one removing the man's coat.
A strong love. The kind that wins.
The kind of love that went to a cross. The kind you'd be crazy to turn down.
The kind God offers.
Never to understand; it's so good.
Remembering now. Truth. About Love.
Moving across the splayed morning sunshine, dust particles dancing; remembering.
Yep. Messed up. All the time. Sometimes catastrophes even.
But there is better.
His love. A place to live.
Filling empty souls with better than we deserve.
My heart downcast reminded.
To be patient with the lives we see only on the outside.
And, for heaven's sake. A beautiful morning emerging. For the grasping.
No longer a fly caught in a web. No longer hanging.
Nothing changed but me. Remembering the enormity of God's love.
The same theme over and over.
Letting go. Forgiving. Choosing grace and freedom and blessing. Choosing love.
For myself. For others.
Remembering it looks more now like a butterfly.
This transformation Love does.
