My husband has a tiny scar beneath his left eye that is the only visible reminder of his run-in with the chicken pox at age 6.
I love that scar.
I remember falling in love with that scar some 8 years ago now-as well as the rest of him.
As I was laying in bed last night, watching him sleep, I wondered if he was gone forever, whether I would remember everything about that scar. And about the freckles around it. Would I remember the exact color of his blue eyes and the way they change with the light? So I lay in bed last night and listened to my love breathe, I watched him dream, and I memorized his beautiful face. Most nights, when we are falling asleep, I will reach over and whisper in his ear:
“You are my hero.”
It is as natural to me as exhaling. I wonder if he is tired of hearing this after seven years of marriage?
What a wonderful, wonderful thing that marriage is. Yet so delicate. I try to think of my marriage like a baby bird in the nest: a miracle, a blessing, beautiful, special, but delicate, fragile, requiring exquisite care and attention and time.
I pray I never forget to respect the delicate nature of this awesome gift called marriage. I pray I will never forget to let my husband know that he is my hero. And that I will, if only every once in awhile, take the quiet time to study and memorize his face.
It is, after all, a marvelous gift from God.