I laid in Husband’s arms last night.

We talked.

We haven’t done that in years.  Holding on, sharing, loving.  There was no agenda, no anger.  Just talk about our lives, where we are, where we want to be.  I told him things I’ve been keeping inside and he really listened and offered advice and encouragement.

It was near perfect.

I laid next to him, laying my heart out for him to see, unwrapping each layer and showing him. He gently touched each piece, held it and turned it over to get a better look.  He was kind and loving, he didn’t squeeze too hard or set it aside like he usually does.  I was amazed at this change, so I kept unwrapping and showing, watching in thankfulness his loving words caressing my soul.

I told him I want to go back to where we were 10 years ago.  I want to live in that marriage again, be that person and live with the person he was then.  We were happy in the old days, always holding hands, not getting enough of each other and sharing life, children, bad times and good times.  We even had someone tell us once that it was nice to see two people so in love and always holding hands and hugging and loving in public.

We don’t hold hands anymore.

After listening to my plea for yesterday, Husband said, “We are here.  This is now.  We can’t go back, we have to go forward from where we are right now.”

Going forward is a hard concept for me. I live in the past. I always face backward as I run forward.  I don’t know why. Maybe God will show me in this place, but for now that is where I’m at.

Husband’s words strike like a hot iron, melting the layers of ice I’ve put up around the part of my heart with his name on it.  I thaw a little in his arms, letting myself turn into him again, once more, even though the pain is still so fresh in my memory.

I just have to keep turning to him instead of away, risking my bruised up heart.

Going forward, sloshing through the sinful hurts and pain.

How can I trust him?  I’m like a child on the edge of the water, toes sticking over the edge, knees bent and ready to jump.  He’s there, in the water, arms stretched out, ready to catch.  But just like the child, I can’t jump.  I can see myself doing it, but I can’t bring my legs to push off.  What if he takes a step back, what if he lowers his arms and I fall into the shark-infested water?  Then I am devoured by hurt, loss and I-told-you-it-would-be-like-this moments and I don’t want to risk that again.  I’ve already swam with the sharks and came out bloodied and ripped to shreds.  I’ve been nursing my wounds with the Word and His love and trying to get some sense of direction.

It’s hard to want to go back there.

I know God will catch me.  I know he will step in and take the place of my earthly husband.  He has done it before, He has been the only reason I have survived this long.  Without his perfect replacement, I would have died to loneliness and anger long ago.

I came by again and saw you, saw that you were ready for love and a lover.  I took care of you, dressed you and protected you.  I promised you my love and entered the covenant of marriage with you.  I, God, the Master, gave my word.  You became mine.  Ezekiel 16:8

I clung to this reality for 5 years as I waited for my husband to wake up to me.  I would have left my marriage if I didn’t have this beautiful promise from God.  I spent many nights crying over it and being thankful that He wrote these words so I could hold onto them tight.

But is it wrong to want my earthly husband to step back in and play his role?  I want that companionship, that bond that we are supposed to have.  I know God wants it too because He put us together, He united us and grew us up together.  He has so much invested in our marriage, I know He wants me to want my husband.  I don’t know where to go, where to start.

Maybe I should start by holding his hand again.