It's the little things

I am a creature of habit.

For example, before starting to write a document on Microsoft Word, I have to complete a process: 1^st, select the entire document.  2^nd, change the font from “Calibri” to “Times New Roman”.  3^rd, change the type size from 11 to 12.  4^th, open the paragraph tab.  5^th, change line spacing from “multiple” to “single”.  6^th, change the “after” spacing from “10 pt” to “6 pt”.  7^th – and finally, the last step – click the box that says “Don’t add space between paragraphs of the same style.”  It’s a tedious process.

Why do I do this?

Because from the time I entered school, until the time that I entered my senior year, that’s the way it looked every time I opened Microsoft Word.  And when it changed, I about lost my mind.  So I figured out how to change it back to – in my opinion – the proper document format, and I’ve done it ever since then, regardless of the importance or frivolity of whatever I have to write. 

Much of my life is conducted in this manner.  I like routine.  I like familiarity.  Don’t get me wrong, I like to spice things up from time to time, but overall I prefer to know that my clock’s cogs are all in working order.

J is very much the same.  More so, in some ways; I have a mini episode when my routine is completely compromised, but it’s kept mostly to myself and lasts a very short while.  He, on the other hand, becomes a real pain in the butt to deal with until he gets used to it.  Which often takes weeks.

I guess that’s why it means so much to me when he deviates from his activities – his beloved routine, regardless of what it involves – to accommodate mine. 

The things I’m talking about may seem silly to some:

He texted me today during his lunch break.

He called me three times just to talk.

He remembered the name to the book I was reading.

He bought me a kit-kat while he was at the store.

He told me he’s going to take me camping up above Tensleep.

But once you understand…

…that he hates texting.  In fact, he pretty much hates communicating over technology at all.
…that he’s been working so many hours I’m surprised he can remember his own name, let alone the book I was reading.

…that his constant worry for me during this pregnancy has inspired him to buy mass quantities of whatever food I seem to be able to keep down during that time period.

…that he specifically found and chose this spot for camping because he wanted to take me somewhere I’d love.

They’re little things.  But for people of habit – like both he and I – even the little things can be hard to accomplish.  It takes a certain amount of dedication to deviate from your routine, once it’s set.  Even for something as silly as a kit-kat bar.  Or an oil filter <3 (long story).  But these tiny gestures of romance, fun, and especially of practicality send my heart fluttering like a schoolgirl’s.

Like I said, they’re little things.  But I guess it’s the little things that matter. :-)

Husband: a new perspective

Warning: the following post may contain content that may upset or hurt the feelings of certain individuals.  Not because it’s nasty or rude (because it’s definitely not), but simply because of the nature of the post.  If you think you could possibly be one of these individuals, please just stop reading now, because (respectfully) it’s not something I will apologize for.

Lately I’ve been thinking.  I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, but mostly I’ve been thinking about the title and position of “husband”, and exactly what that means for me as “wife”.   I’ve reached several interesting and rather enlightening conclusions, but what has stood out to me the most is how my thoughts on the matter have shifted over the years.

When I was a young girl, “husband” was something to fantasize over.  I, like almost every girl my age, had a list of all the attributes I wanted my future husband to have.  Among other things on the list were “handsome”, “smart”, “Godly”, and “good with/wants kids”; things that I thought were most important at the time.

As a teenager, “husband” was a fanciful ideology, so close within reach.  But then, marriage to me really meant “pretty white dress that I get to wear”.  It didn’t really register to me as extending beyond the wedding day (obviously I knew it did, but that’s the best way I know how to put it).

As a young bride (and still teenager), “husband” shifted from a wonderful fantasy, to a heavy iron chain that I couldn’t escape.  Not that mine was bad; honestly, I was very very lucky in that my ex-husband was (and still is, as far as I can tell) a very good man.  But the wedding was over, the honeymoon ended, and reality sunk in.  I’d jumped too soon, moved too fast, and said vows to someone I never should have said them to.  And so as each day went by, the ring on my finger felt more and more like a brand than a sign of commitment.

Now my view of “husband” has shifted once more, although this time I pray it never changes again.  Once again, “husband” incurs thoughts of “handsome”, “smart”, “Godly”, and “good with/wants kids.”  “Husband” now also incurs thoughts of “stubborn”, “maddening”, “difficult”, and “frustrating”.  But more importantly, now when I think of the word “husband”, I automatically think of something else:

“Wife”. 

For the first time, I find myself consumed with what it means to be a wife.  A *good* wife, that is.  It’s never really been something I’d given much thought to (I guess I always assumed I’d be a natural, haha), but now it fills my thoughts daily.  And so far this is what I’ve got:

Being a good wife means loving my husband unconditionally, no matter how I may feel about him that day.  It means pulling my own weight, but being humble enough to ask for his help if I need it.  It means offering my own help – even silently – to him, whether he needs it or not.  It means forgiving him when he has wronged me, and begging his forgiveness when I have wronged him.  But most importantly, it means giving myself to him.

Not just physically (though that too, haha ;-)), but in every way: emotionally, mentally, etc.  It means to make him my second priority (the first being God), and put him above anyone else in my life.  It means to make a conscious effort to keep him on the edge of my consciousness at all times (if not front and center).  And most importantly, it means to love and put him and his needs and wants before my own.

It’s not an easy thing to do.  I wish I could say that it’s cake, but it’s not.  I’m human, I get busy, and I have feelings that aren’t always conducive to a loving relationship.  But so far, as I involve God more and more into my life and my marriage, it’s getting easier every day.

And I’ve discovered something very interesting: the more I give myself to this marriage and devote myself to becoming a better wife, the more “husband” starts to mean one more thing:

Freedom.