Regardless that it was still winter in Ithaca, NY,
we decided to hike in our classic Hikemon/Hikewoman style.
You remember that every season has its perks, if only you're dressed for it, right?
Yes, I wore long johns. Yes, I love long johns.
Yes, I loved being able to think twelve complete thoughts in a row,
articulate them to the Rugged Mountain Man,
Have him think twelve complete thoughts in a row,
articulate them to me and then repeat the process often throughout the weekend.
Who knew thinking thoroughly and speaking unhurriedly could be a luxury?
The weekend was romantic too.
We're still like that, mostly when we don't look and feel like zombies.
But this weekend held plenty of companionable silence.
And we reveled in it.
We've been friends for a long time
and we look to be even better friends for years to come, by God's grace.
It is in these moments that we sync up again.
The Bible calls the man the head of the household.
I adore that metaphor, mostly because my mind conjures up
images of one person walking through the journey of life.
The whole body falls in line with the head.
A bad marriage can be a painful journey,
like the gait of a gangly, awkward youth.
Conversely, it can be striking, like observing a graceful ballerina
as she confidently strides in her street clothes.
I like to think that we are growing more graceful in our walk together,
my character and decisions increasingly harmonious to the Rugged Mountain Man's leading.
The Rugged Mountain Man continues to prove himself gentle, kind and affectionate,
ever growing in his pursuit to love me like Christ loves the Church.
And, I hope that I'm growing too. I hope my heart is more and more willing to serve.
Because my love for him and Him is increasing, submission blossoms from that love.
It's not a teeth-grittin' hard time.
It's a gracious graceful walk, entwined together,
journeying toward that Doorway,
the final bridge where we'll truly be Home.
