There’s Garth in the kitchen again, saving me from myself. I tried to make our go-to brownie in a mug with almond flour–it didn’t work out. Actually, it exploded in the microwave, leaving me with boiling brownie-flavored goo in a mug. I shouted to him that it was a failure and sat down to sulk at my computer. He rubbed my shoulders, gave me a kiss, made grilled s’mores sandwiches with Nutella and marshmallow fluff.
It’s not his job, by the way–the saving. And, for a moment of complete transparency here, right now I’m struggling with this idea of marriage as a blessing. A friend of mine was recently widowed, and grief has taken hold once again. One of the ways it’s manifested is making every single thing about my marriage…well, sad. I love my husband so much. I love watching him be a dad. But it breaks my heart completely to know what my dear friend is going through. And I hate how this has affected our relationship right now too, how I know, how I feel. I am wife while she is widow, I am married mom while she is single. And sometimes I can’t go on a simple ordinary date with my husband without breaking down in the car first, because it is so completely unfair.
But I know the Beatitudes. I know how blessing carries weight. The poor in spirit will inherit the kingdom, the mourning will receive comfort. The thorns of life make us more aware of our weakness, and our weakness is where God fills us in with his unfathomable strength.
So I guess you can say in our weakness we become glorious.
Strahan’s words waft in from the kitchen with the smell of melted butter, “You are my daily, you are my daily, you are my daily bread…”
Not my husband. Not my child. Not what I have but to whom I belong. The rest is just dessert, a bonus. It’s not what we’re lacking but what we have that really matters. And it’s enough.
More than enough.