Looking Happy

I caught my husband looking at me in some mundane moment in the hallway.  I had been walking in my sock feet, hair in the same style since last evening, and for some insignificant reason, I changed direction.  For a split second, I turned and looked at him, and saw that his eyes had already been fixed on me.  He had a soft expression on his face, a tiny smile lingering.  It was an expression that I don't see often, as I am now discovering that we spend most of our time with our eyes focused on other things.  But we were, for a miniscule amount of time, on a common channel, with crystal clarity.  Then the common sounds of our home, the electric melody of toys, crashing of block towers, and two little dueling babblers, came washing through.  I knew then that an arbitrary change of direction in an arbitrary location at an arbitrary time in the afternoon hadn't been arbitrary at all.  God had scheduled a meeting with the three of us.

I walked up to my husband and said, "You looked at me happy."  Not the most beautiful English, but I said what I meant in as few words as possible.

Now I would like to expand.

Several days ago, I was in the back yard mingling with some of my relatives.  My eyes scanned the area; kids were splashing down the water slide as a cluster of adults looked on from outside the splash zone.  A group of women were seated at a folding table underneath the canopy while a cluster of men sat in camping chairs under the maple tree.  A couple of families congregated around the baby pool, laughing at the diapered kiddos splashing each other.  My eyes rested on Jon.  He stood at the grill in the 104 degree heat, the air shimmering above the sizzling hamburgers and hotdogs.  He was wiping his forehead with the back of the hand that grasped the spatula while the other oven-mitted hand held the lid open.  He had long since shed his orange collared shirt, his grey t-shirt clinging to his back.  I watched him for awhile as he heaped each plate with the latest grilled delicacies to bring inside to the warmer.  It was one of those agape moments--a moment where I felt some kind of not-from-me love fill me up when I looked at him.  Nothing else was in my consciousness at that tiny moment, not the heat, not my guests, not even what my children were doing.  It was no question that he was at the most miserable spot in the whole yard, and he was there willingly, happily.  For me.  Had he seen me looking at him, and had the same thought occurred to him as occurred to me when we made eye contact in the hallway, he might have said, "You looked at me happy." 

I find myself looking at my husband in that agape way more often than rarely, but sadly, less often than usually.  It's true that we spend most of our time throughout the day with our eyes on other things (usually our kids, or the house, or our computers, or the TV).  To each other, we are "every day."  We are part of each other's background.  We are part of each other's daily existence.  We have not lost value to each other; we have simply become so much a part of each other's lives that our view of the world doesn't change much when one of us crosses the other's path.  It's like standing on a rock for so long that you stop consciously thinking that the rock is the whole reason you are closer to the sky.  It becomes difficult to separate out the little moments throughout the day that are expressions of that agape love--that love that came from somewhere else beyond understanding.  However, when these agape moments do occur, no matter how slight, I remember how amazing, how truly miraculous it is that we even were brought together.

Then I start to feel small.  Then I start to wonder how in the world I managed to end up with a man of such integrity, drive, responsibility, and work ethic.  There are plenty of people in this world who end up devoting at least some parts, if not all of their lives to people who deflate their souls.  As I have stated before, I am not in the least bit more deserving than anyone else of any grace from God.  I am often struck by the fact that a series of personal choices create a delicate web that connects one person to another.  If I hadn't have chosen to attend my high school, I never would have had the need to join a carpool; if I hadn't joined a carpool, I never would have befriended my husband, etc etc etc.  That's the thing about free will: one small change in choice can completely, infinitely change the whole pattern of the web, and the people involved in it.  I have to admit that I'm tempted by the apparent randomness of it all, which makes my thoughts about my marriage a little more irrational.  It's weird, but I try to make sense of how purposeful our lives' intertwining was/is, because if our joining was for a reason, orchestrated by a benevolent God, then surely he won't be taken away from me for no reason.  Right? 

Okay, I know that's not right.  I guess I have a little guilt related to the possibility that one day time will be up.  Guilt because there are many, many times that I don't recognize my husband for the irreplaceable gift that he is.  When I do stop to think about it, I don't even tell him that he has fulfilled me more than I know how to explain or rationalize.  What's even worse is that I know I must cause him to suffer insecurity from time to time, insecurity that he can't somehow keep me happy at times when I seem anxious, stressed, or depressed, or at times when I choose to spend my evening blogging instead of talking to him, despite the inordinate amount of effort he puts into our children and the managing of our finances and household.  His role in our house and our family is nothing less than charitable and foundational.  He has devoted his life to serving us.  But it only occurs to me sometimes to stop, take a breath, and look at him happy.  I only sometimes acknowledge the rock on which I am standing.

As I've been writing in this blog, I've discovered that while I've explored many topics and facets of my life that intrigue me, I haven't brought in the one element of my life that helps me feel a love that is outside of myself.  I haven't illuminated the part of my every day that makes me touch fingertips with God occasionally when I look at him.  I want to acknowledge my husband now, not as a gratuitous, cheesy tribute, but to fill the space between agape moments when he might wonder where we stand with each other as we watch TV quietly, side by side.  Let it be known, you, that my every day is spent in awe of the fact that somehow, despite our own individual choices and flaws, we are delicately, but unbreakably joined.  And for that, I am (constantly) happy.