When life makes my heart sore, I carry on as usual; the laundry gets done, dinner gets on the table, I work hard for my clients and put on my happy face. But on the inside, I clam up like a wounded animal.
And the world goes round, and the hours pass by, and no one knows my ache.
No one but him.
The man who vowed to love me with his very last breath, he knows. This one who looks at me as though I was still a bride, he knows. This one who tells me that I make him happy, he knows.
So he gently pulls me in his arms and he won’t let me go. He won’t let me say “no.” He holds on to me tight until my heart begins to open up a bit.
He tenderly pries it open with kind determination.
He doesn’t judge, nor does he dismiss the raw pain on the inside. He doesn’t even need words, this man who chose to give his life away for me. His arms do all the talking.
His heart knows how to reach me.
After thirty-two years, he reads me so well.
Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp
#212 Thirty two years of marriage
#211 A cute skirt bought at the thrift store
#210 my new ricotta cookies recipe
#209 my well functioning car