Still, he cares for my heart.

Nearly halfway through August. Already. I don’t know how on earth summer always manages to fly by with such speed and gusto. We’ve just come home from a 12-day stay in the beautiful Winthrop, WA. Any period of time spent in such close quarters with family can be a great test of patience but I think we returned rested and at peace – for the most part. Camping trips always come to an end too soon, I think. Maybe my opinion will change when I become responsible for planning and preparing to take a family of my own away for that long but as for right now, I long to remain where life is so simple and sweet. The sun baked our skin day in and day out, save for the various thunderstorms, while we consumed book after book. When the trials of family life threatened to overcome me, I would curl myself into a westward facing chair, pen in hand. Pouring out your soul in the vast open air as the setting sun casts shadows across the valley is, if you ask me, as soothing as it gets for a backpack soul. I want to share more about the beautiful things the Lord showed me during my time away but Jesse has just arrived and intends to have us mosey around the local bookstore. It’s one of our most treasured past times. Pray that I might resist the urge to buy more books… So while I long to stay on the back patio, blogging to my little heart’s content, I am apt to please my beloved. Such is the theme of the piece of writing I plan to share today. I wrote it one morning after crawling out of my tent in the early morning only to find a sight so captivating (my boyfriend) that it had me rendering the beach as a far distant prospect. I perched myself across from my boyfriend, who had had himself buried in a Cormac McCarthy book for an hour already, and set about to writing of all the romance inside me.

Here it is:

Pretentious. Proud. Unpredictable. These things he is not. Pensively, he reads perched in the sun, exuding calm. On less than perfect days, it’s a calm before the storm that will surely rage behind those young eyes. On good days, it’s a calm that emphatically rubs my foot with its own, beneath a table of pent up irritation. Those stormy eyes silently implore me to practice patience and stay safely in my seat where I cannot hurt anyone. Pray for me, he often says, as if I don’t already pour my soul out for him before God, begging for a direction and a purpose to become clear. As if I don’t thank our Provider for the plenty He has given. His love is one that consumes me, lifts me, takes flight within the depths of my heart, and leaves me breathless in the wake of its passion. Poised I stood, hoping for a young love, a love that would pursue and protect. But I never saw him coming. I never could have guessed the power of the peace that he gives me nor the poignancy of two pure and untouched hearts rendered fully to one another.

As a child I longed to be wrapped within the pleasing embrace of romance. I am still a child but I’ve caught now a glimpse of the partnership that transcends romance and passion, that holds tight by the hand to all the integrity of the beginning – some of which we’ve lost along the way. Though I am committed to this partnership, I’ve caved to the pressure of suppositions, presumptions, and premonitions that everything was not as it seemed. We’ve both been held captive by the hurt we’ve inflicted. But love keeps no record of wrongs. Love perseveres. Love rejoices in the truth. And the truth is, I am hopelessly in love with every part of his person. I am forever empowered by the peace I’ve found in his arms or lost in his gaze. He has made me privy to his every thought and I find myself inclined to do the same, no matter the personal cost. By the grace of God, we’ve shown each other the deep and ugly recesses of our souls and been not appalled, but rather, all the more ensconced in friendship and love.

So as I watch him sitting in the brightness of this morning, I am overcome with a joy so lovely. Though I petition for grace and patience from God, I still seem to import more bluntness and speak more pointedly than I can bear apologize for. Still he cares for my heart and keeps my feet on this solid ground when upheaval is imposing itself. I am not a prisoner to his love, as the song goes, but a thankful object of an affection that is as real as the sun in all its glory.

Munching on his pop tart, he is oblivious to the way he endears himself to me. He simply won’t ever know how I delight in his presence. My hope was that perhaps, if I wrote about it, he might understand the place within my heart that only his love can fill; the place, that if it were to disappear, would be permanently for want of a partnership and passion as great – as lovely – as that which we have now been given.