King James

Tonight, I finished reading "A Year of Biblical Womanhood" by Rachel Held Evans, a book I highly recommend to anyone, but especially to Christian women (and thoughtful men) who have grown up in a church culture that heavily dictates gender roles, and to women (and thoughtful men) for whom the misogyny (real and presumed) of the Christian culture as supported (in theory) by the Bible have been a deal-breaker to approaching a relationship with Jesus.

Thank you for suffering through that awkwardly long run-on sentence with me.

In addition to falling in love with the author within the first two pages of the book, I finished the book pretty darned fond of her husband, as well. What we see of him in the book, both from her narrative and excerpts from his journal, speaks highly of him as a person and as a life partner.

Of course, this reminded me often of my own husband. In fact, this blog title is a sort of play on the fact that for one month of the "biblical womanhood" project, Evans called her husband "master."

Tonight, taking a shower, I was thinking a lot about James. Before you get a bunch of sordid ideas, allow me to explain:

Early this spring, we went on a vacation to Colorado. We stayed in 4 different hotels during the week of the road trip. After we'd gotten home, we were discussing how, until the last night, our accommodations improved, comfort-wise and in elegance, each time we moved. It was during that conversation that James mentioned being really impressed with and enjoying the detachable shower head at the third place where we stayed.

"You realize," I said, "That our shower here at the house has the same kind of sprayer?"

He said, "It does?"

"Yes."

"But that one had a massage setting."

"So does ours."

He had to go into the bathroom to check it out.

That's why I was thinking about him in the shower tonight. I think about him a lot, but especially when I use the shower sprayer function... AND before you get any sordid ideas about THAT, I'll tell you that unless I've gotten paint or mud or something sticky on myself, I only ever use the detachable head to clean the blinds and the far end of the shower (where we keep the hair product... and in our household, we have all of the needs) while I wait for my conditioner to work.

James and I sometimes joke about how "observant" he is. BUT, here's a thing:

A couple of weeks ago, James brought home a box of See's chocolates for me to put in my "labor bag." I have healthy, easily-edible snacks like applesauce pouches and chewy freeze-dried bananas and yogurt drops, but had mentioned at some point that chocolate was very easy to eat and digest. In fact, in "Real Chocolate" by Chantal Coady, the author points out that "[c]hocolate is even used as a homeopathic remedy, indicated for feelings of hostility, especially when mothers feel anger and frustration toward their offspring. The effect is to restore the nurturing mother side and to promote a general sense of well-being."

So, my dear husband might not have noticed, in the year and a half he's occupied the Nuthaus, that there is a multi-functioning shower head, but he did overhear me mention that at some point I needed to get to See's, he took his lunch break one day to drive up the maddening circus that is 360 to the candy shop, and personally selected candies he thought I would like to fill the box he presented to me.

He is observant about the things that matter.

And he is the best partner in the whole world for me.

This weekend (and right now in general), I was pretty hormonal. Sunday morning, I was sweeping the house and had a little pity party for myself. I started crying, and though brushing up mounds of cat fur and corn/pine litter isn't particularly inspiring, it doesn't generally bore me to tears.

James, who had been working at the computer, came into the kitchen where I was and just stood there. He didn't ask me what was wrong. James told me that his mom taught him not to pry into people's problems; if they want to talk to you, they'll talk to you. And I did want to talk to James; I want to tell him everything... But in this case, my feelings were hurt in reaction to something someone else did, and in that moment, talking to James about it before I'd had a chance to talk it over with that person felt like gossip, so I didn't want to do that.

Also, if I'd thrown the broom down and crumpled in James' arms, he would have supported me. But I really wanted to finish sweeping more than I wanted to indulge in a total breakdown, thus completely wasting my time.

Still, that sweet man stood in the kitchen, available but unassuming, giving me my space, but not too much space, until he was satisfied that I was okay. He didn't sit as his computer and ignore the "crazy woman hysterics" in the next room. He acknowledged me by this presence and was available. And he wasn't offended that I chose not to utilize him any more than I did.

In other words, it was perfect.

I know James himself isn't perfect. But he's perfect for me. He is brilliant and driven and busy and introverted, but he manages not to make me feel stupid; he takes time to play Scrabble (on the couch, even, so I can keep my feet up) and share old movies with me; he will sit and talk to me for hours, even when it's the third day we've been in the house together.

I love that man, and I love our life together. I hope we have lots and lots of years left to enjoy it.

The first time we visited See's, for their pre-grand-opening blogger event.