Wife

Things are happening.  There's bubbling beneath the surface.  A smile plays at the corners of my lips, even as I think about how He is moving.  What was choice is now desire.  What was practice is now life.  I love Him.  And He loves me.  And He is changing me.  Because love does.

But.  Oh how I wish there was no but.

But as I step off to the side and watch myself for a moment, I see a glaring hole between the caring phone calls, deliberate check-ins, prayerful emails, grace-filled conversations, compassionate listening, encouraging cards, generous offers, and hospitable invitations.  Those all look so righteous and holy and wonderful, but in the very center of them all is a cavernous gap called wife.  In that role, I am so weak.  He does not get the careful, caring, passionate love that I pride myself on doling out to everyone else around me.

And I feel ugly for selfish and hypocritical for it.

Lord, only You can fill me with that which I cannot manufacture.  I don't want to try harder.  Please, grow me love for him so that it cannot help but show in words, actions, touches, affirmations, tones, and attention.  You are the King of Greater.  Fill me with greater love and greater joy for my role in this house.