First summer of marriage--it has been five months. My arms are reddish brown and freckled from long walks. I've had time to think, read and pray. Time to talk to this sweet guy that is (it still shocks me and sounds strange) my husband. We have been anxious together--applying for jobs, wrestling out what this lull means, looking together where God is leading. As much as I rebel against waiting and unknowns, we are doing well in this time of rest. In this time, I see that God is, among other things, weaving a marriage.
Only to have the freedom to receive.
We stay a few days at my parent's hundred year old house while they are out of town. The kitchen strangely quiet--missing the usual Sunday lunch chatter and cooking sounds. Urban homestead. Greenhouse in the dining room, workshop in the basement. All that's missing is a barn and some cows to milk. The city lights outshine the meteor showers, too, though. That is a pity.
I water the garden one morning--hanging baskets and irises past their prime in this long, hot summer. Over to the lily of the valley and chrysanthemum, the small dogwood, the twisting and delicate Japanese maple.
My favorite part: the herb garden. Several large sage plants with their long, soft leaves. Basil so tall it has become a bush, two varieties of thyme, rosemary, a little bit of cilantro. When the water hits them they start to smell delicious. Like I am cooking something up out here. Like they are thanking me for the drink. The scents begin to waft through the whole yard, following me as I continue the rounds. Thank you, I nod to them.
There are two surprise lilies left, the others are scattered around the periphery of the yard and their pink flowers are withered on the tall bare stalks. These ones stick around till the end like the last ladies having a conversation before the church doors are locked. Let them talk as long as they like. I will not shoo them out.
The words are slowly arriving, as they always seem to do. I try not to chide them for dawdling slowly along on this cool August morning. All of this change, this joy, this surprising turn in the road. What does it look like to make a home together? I am learning about myself that it is ok that it all has to simmer in there for a long while. I will not rush to conclusions.
We dimly see the path before us; learn to live in a new vocabulary: marriage, husband, wife, home. Longing still for perfect restoration, yet feeling a different kind of peace, and knowing a different kind of love that helps me understand the Father. As before, I listen and watch and wait.
At this moment, though still full of yearning, I am thankful. I open my hands to receive what He gives, to release what he needs to take. I see that I am home.