I really like the man I married. As in, I really, really, really like him.
From date number one, he's been my best friend, my confidant, and my mentor.
He's practically perfect... but sometimes I don't act like that.
I know, I know... You're all shocked. While it is quite true that he does the dishes every night, gives me truth when I'm struggling, Chick-fil-A when I'm craving, and cuddles when I'm whining, I'm not always satisfied. Sure, he takes me on dates, discusses literature, and he puts his dirty clothes in the laundry. (I'm the one who leaves clothing "rapture piles" lying around our bedroom. His phrase. Not mine.) But he is not always perfect.
Neither am I.
Sometimes I twist words, or I read three-layers down into what he really meant (that's his favorite). Sometimes I cry for no reason. Yesterday morning, he got up and walked across the room while I was reading my Bible. And it irritated me. His hair was just all... aggravating.
Show this to your husband. He'll be glad that he married you. I am a hot mess.
Sometimes we can boil love down into a series of actions, or appearances, or qualities. It's easy to fall for someone on that first date, and to whisk down the aisle with glee. Marriage is pretty fun. I got a new mixer. And a crockpot. And I became "domestic." (Which is not the same as "domesticated." We're still working on that...) But as the years tick by, it becomes more and more obvious what you set your affections on.
I think my husband is cute. I think he's intelligent. I think he's fun. I think (most of the time) that his hair is amazing.
But what I'm really in love with is my husband's soul.
Once you say, "I do" you're signing up for forever. And (with a few biblical exceptions) that's what you're in for. And some things will change... We've been waiting for Scott to go bald for several years now. He fully expects that I'll have Alzheimer's by age fifty. So, when the externals, like intellect and hair, fade away, what is there left for you to love?
C.S. Lewis (as always) said it best: "It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare."
My husband is waiting to be glorified. He has an eternal soul. If his mind goes and his body falls apart, it is merely an outer shell that I will still serve... because of its future glory.
Lewis continues, "There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal....it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.”
So, when he irritates me, or frustrates me, or is perhaps perfectly charming (and I choose to react angrily), I am interacting with a forever being.
When my selfish, tunnel-visioned heart takes a step (or two or three) back from the situation, I see that my spouse is a beautiful, eternal soul. And my reactions must be tempered as such. He is made to reflect God. It matters little whether I think he actually is in that moment, the point is he deserves respect and love based solely on his eternal inheritance.
So today, as I pack his lunch, smooch him goodbye, and scheme up something yummy for him at dinner, I'm showing in small, physical ways, what I think of his forever soul. I value him. Prize him. Respect him. Esteem him. Love him. Not because of what is seen, but because of what is unseen.
For we are currently clay jars. But the eternal weight of glory is coming. What is unseen is eternal. And for that reason, I will be faithful in my small, daily husband loving.