How Can I Even Begin to Explain?

Three days.

That's how long I've had this blog window open, and have written nothing until today. Day Four.

This weekend, I was feeling overwhelmed by how amazing my husband is. That's when I decided to write about it. And, obviously, I've failed.

I've failed because when I start to write about James, the words that I end up seeing don't come close to describing what is awesome and admirable and lovable and life-changing about him. It's pretty frustrating, actually.

Over the past week, my sister's family has been remembering the trip they took to China three years ago, during which they adopted my two youngest nephews. I remember managing to Skype with them one or two times, and getting a few text exchanges in, even though their internet and communications were extremely limited. I was very excited at the time because of a turn I thought my life was taking. I was happy and hopeful for the first time in a couple of years.

That lasted all of about two weeks, when some proverbial dooky hit the fan and it took me almost a year to recover from the ensuing crapstorm. Basically, it was the death of my naivety regarding my situation, and my coming to terms with reality. I wanted things I could not have, even though I believed that I could manage. I wanted things that were not right or good, but seemed to make sense at the time. I wanted things, so many things, from the wrong places.

As I was rebuilding (or, perhaps more accurately, building) my life from that devastation, James and I got reacquainted. During that time, he gave me a lot of good advice, but was also annoyingly inconsistent about being available. I didn't realize it early on, but he was going through one of the toughest times in his life, too.

When we started seeing each other, I have to admit that I was probably not fit to date. I was insecure and needy and very seriously suggested calling the whole thing off about three or four times when what appeared to be insurmountable differences came to the front.

This sweet man took my histrionics in stride, typically "compromising" by first calming me down and often giving up things he wanted because he genuinely loved me... and I wasn't used to being truly loved. I didn't know how to take it. I didn't know how to turn off the scared.

It took until probably last summer, a few months after we had married and after we'd loved each other through a fast surprise pregnancy and miscarriage, but eventually, it took. Eventually, I got it.

James and I are a team. We're in this together. Not just whatever's going on this moment, but life. That's the way a marriage is supposed to be, I realize. James actually articulates this on a regular basis. For someone whose baggage says not to take for granted that love is unconditional, this is a big deal.

I've mentioned (to the point that you probably want to headdesk right now) that I've had a running crush on James for almost as long as I've known him. I knew he was a neat guy. I knew he was brilliant. I knew he was compassionate and articulate and fun. But I didn't know how easy it would become to trust him. I didn't realize that, after my initial struggle with trying to micro-manage our relationship, being together would be so simple. And secure. And empowering. And blissful. And joyous.

My husband is an exceptionally patient man, and I am sure I haven't tested that for the last time. But after what feels like a lifetime of struggling, it is incredible to be in a relationship where I can just rest. And I don't mean "rest" as in "stop trying" or anything like that. I mean the kind of rest that lets me forget about caring for myself and concentrate on caring for him and for us and for our family. The kind of rest that lets you be your best, and bring your everything to the table every day, because you're not worried that you're going to be rejected, or run out of steam, or have more stolen from you than you're able to offer.

I've read that one of a woman's primary needs is security. James provides that in every single aspect of our lives, and he seems to enjoy it. It's my goal to make sure he always feels like it's worth it.

Every day, this man tells me how much he appreciates something about me, whether it's the effort I go to to make our house a home, or fixing up for him, or cooking meals. In fact, I have a suspicion that this might actually be a "to do" item on his daily list. If that's the case, I ain't even mad about his auto-prompt; I'm flattered that it was important enough for him to make it a conscious action item.

He knows I love him. I tell him all the time. Like over and over. Annoyingly frequently, I'm afraid. And, just like this whole blog thing, the words are woefully deficient. I hope we have many, many years left for me to show him.

(Plus, he isn't exactly hard on the eyes... I mean, look at that face...)