I’m sitting in church, snuggled in my husband’s chest, his arm around me, listening. We haven’t done this in so long … sat in church together and listened. We don’t get to sit together anymore. Too busy.
Our anniversary was the day before. We had a big fight. It was about 87% my fault. I suck. But he’s here holding me, and I feel alright. I feel like he’s holding me because he wants to, not because he has to.
I wish our marriage could be like this all the time.
Now the speaker’s calling me out and he doesn’t even know it. My eyes are trying to well up, but I’m taking command of my emotions and holding the tears hostage under pain of injury! You will not cry, I insist. Phew. Crisis averted.
Now the speaker’s inviting us posers to turn ourselves in at the altar. Great. I’m gonna cry, I just know it. Oh well, it is what it is.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to my husband. I join a bunch of strangers rushing for the altar, and I carefully fold myself onto the floor and sing along with “Lead Me to the Cross.” Why that song? I freakin’ love that song. Here come the tears and snot.
The service is over, but church is still happening. Derwin comes over, and he kneels on one knee and holds me with his good arm. His chest is behind me like a sturdy wall, and his shoulder is like a corner where I can hide my face, and his arm is like a strong ledge I can rest on. It was safe to cry with Derwin all around me. It was very lovely, very sweet.
I’ve known Derwin since I was a child. Now he’s my husband. We’re grown ups on the outside, but we’re still children inside. I love him so much.