Real Romance

Yesterday at The Moonboat Cafe (my bookstore coffee shop blog), I wrote a post entitled Too Busy for Joy? At the end of the post, I posed a question: "What is one thing that brings you joy?" Julie answered,

When my husband takes time to walk with me, holds my hand, hears my soul. In the end, I can laugh again.

How Beautiful!

We can forget, in the midst of all the business of homeschooling and raising a family, how important just being with our husbands can be. I can remember many times, when I was stressed out and exhausted, my own husband suggesting that we do something together just for fun.

"How can he say this to me right now?" This was often the first thought that popped up before I could gather myself. "Doesn't he see how much I have to do?" Then, an inner groan. "There just isn't enough of me to go around!" Because I was overwhelmed and tired, his invitation just felt to me like one more thing. I couldn't see how it had anything to do with solving my problems and getting some sleep!

"It won't help, and I am not good company right now," was usually my answer. But my husband, wise man that he was, was not put off by this. He replied that we'd just do a little bit, then I could get back to work. Several hours later, I was leaning my head on his shoulder and smiling. The stress had melted away, and my face looked young and radiant again with the glow of a woman who is loved.

He was always right. Being with him -- "just be my girlfriend," were his words -- was the last thing I wanted when he suggested it, but was precisely the thing I needed. When I could set aside my burdens, and just play with him, just be with him, just receive the love and joy of us, I was refreshed and better equipped to handle all of my challenges.

Our joy made me strong and resilient again. How? I really can't explain it. That's the magic of real romance.

What's real romance? The kind that slow dances in the kitchen and goes for long walks and brings you coffee in bed. The kind that steps over the piles of laundry and the clutter on the dining room table to hold you before leading you upstairs. The kind that rubs your back after a long day and gives you tender kisses on your neck. The kind that knows just how to make you laugh in a tense moment. The kind that whispers, "I'd marry you all over again," across the room in the middle of reading a story to your children.

I wouldn't have it any other way.