An Apology to My Husband

I need to say something. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing you away because I don’t understand how you could want to be with me when I don’t want to be around myself most days. I appreciate you, your servant-like heart that you (my usual word here would be “waste”) use on me. I once read that if you can replace the word “love” with your lover’s name in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 then you’ve really found someone.

Was it love when you first smiled at me? Or our year-long friendship? Or when I told you I liked you? Maybe it was the first kiss? Or before that, when we paused to stare into each other’s eyes? Maybe on our wedding day? It seems like it was only after that that I could really see how much you love me.

  • I think I knew when you took care of me when the stomach bug bit in the middle of the night when we were in the middle of no where.
  • I knew when you sat next me and comforted me, probably just as petrified as I was, during the all-natural birth of our first child. You even turned away your parents because I asked for no visitors.
  • I knew when you took care of your sick wife, toddler, and newborn when the three of us were terribly ill.
  • And when you supported me because I wanted to stay home, quitting my full-time job with benefits.
  • I knew it was love when you told me you still choose me, messy life and all, over ever thinking about starting new with anyone else.
  • I knew when you held me in your arms while I cried and moaned from pain as changeable as the weather, insensible to everything but the feeling that my skull had turned into tectonic plates
  • I know when you don’t complain since all you want is a bowl but you have to search the cabinets because of my latest rearrangement.
  • I know when you scoop the litter so I don’t have to do it.
  • I know when you rush out in the mornings, but still take the time to pray for our day and kiss me goodbye.
  • I know when the long afternoon hours drag on into evening, and the kids getting restless and asking for you.
  • I know because every time you’ve seen and heard words slung at you in hurting frustration, you still seek to take me in your arms because you know where I’ve been.
  • I know when you tell me you love me but I don’t say it back.
  • I know because even though I’m more like Eowyn or Catherine Earnshaw than Jane Eyre or Amy Dorrit–passionate and ready for battle instead of calm and charitable–that you help soothe my raging heart .
  • I know you love me because when I feel insecure and insufficient, you show me your wedding band and tell me that you also have made a commitment to God.

So instead of saying I’m sorry that you love me, I want to say thank you for loving me.


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