two words

--for Heather on our anniversary

It is a beautiful Friday morning. As I walk the dog, I pass a short, thin man with a long, full beard who smiles at me and says, “Good morning.” He is wearing all black, save for a plain white collar shirt under his blazer. Atop his head: a large, broad-brimmed hat.

And there are two other splashes of white, swinging freely just below the hem on the left and right sides of his blazer: tassels.

Almost every Friday now, I pass my friendly Jewish neighbor on this stretch of sidewalk just one street over from our home. He and his family are new to the neighborhood and I find myself looking forward to his greeting every week.

He seems joyful to me. After I pass him, I wonder if he feels especially joyful today because at sunset he will say Kiddush and begin the Sabbath.

Even though it is still early, I find myself wishing him Shabbat shalom. And as I turn that phrase over in my heart, I find myself thinking of you.

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I invite you to read the rest of this post over at PlayFull...

laundry by quarters and dishes by hand

In our early years we did laundry by quarters and dishes by hand, together. Yes, together. We have been together almost twenty-three years now, married for twenty to the day.

Two days ago I arose at 5 to pray. You were on my heart and lips. Though I knelt alone, I was not alone. Our Father was with us and you were asleep in our room. I lifted you up to God and prayed joy over you for you have given me joy. After praying, I opened the curtains to greet the light. We have old windows now and through the unbroken panes I saw the moon at dawn, full and pale, right in view. It took my breath away. I did not expect to see your face in the sky.

I turned, walked over the creaky floors to our room and kissed you gently awake, thankful.

Some time ago, a young co-worker leered at a woman passing by. He asked me: if I could have any woman at our store, which one would I have.

I replied that I was married.

He said that didn’t matter.

I said it did.

He asked me how many women had I had in my life…

You are the only one for me, darling. I would not have it any other way.

A little over a month ago we moved in to a new apartment. We do laundry by quarters and dishes by hand again. And I would not have it any other way--because it means we’re together still, like our new old windows, unbroken.

i'm still learning to love you

I’m still learning to love you. When we argue, I’m still learning to listen. When you encourage me, I’m still learning to believe it.

After all these years, I still fail to bless each time you sneeze. Today I'll diligently practice nursing your illness. That's bad for you, but good for me because it gives me practice loving you.

When I am looking out the front window and see you drive up, loaded with bags, I’m still learning to put on my boots and come quickly to your aid.

I seem to have learned the art of warming up the car and scraping the windows for you; there is consolation in that. I'd like to learn to do that every time without need of reminder. Forgive me when I forget or seem apathetic.

And then there are those other imperfect matters. I am that man you married that gives you the chance to practice grace. Yes, that's me...

Forgive my impatience and forgive me when I speak without regard.

Can this imperfect man possess a soul perfected by grace? I’m beginning to think God’s greatest creation was and is paradox—and evermore shall be. How can it be that this jailbird retains innocence? The heart says I am free, but the mind cannot grasp it. The spirit understands liberation though the intellect cannot untangle it. Yes, I am that flawed human made spotless by nothing other than grace. And you are and we are, too.

God’s grace and your grace and my grace and our grace are all that’s needed, I suppose. What freedom!

Marriage is not perfect—not with God nor with you and me—mostly me—for my part, I’d have nothing more for the rest of my life than to practice loving you and our Father.