Black Leather couch

I knelt down to pray with Andrew this morning at our black leather couch.

We have been doing this together for years.

Instinctively we fall on our knees into a pile.

I nestle my head into the space under his ribs.

He kisses the tops of my folded hands.

Our first year together

I pull his smell through my nose up into my memory.

I remember why we are doing this.

I remember why we are tired, why we are blessed.

My first thought is always, "Thank you.  Thank you for this."

Then I start praying for what I think I'm supposed to...

"God please take my fear.  Take my fear of food, of what my body looks like..."

Today I realized, this has been my prayer for long enough.

I've experienced how this fear, this eating disorder, teaches me.

Maybe I cannot pray it away.

So I stopped.  

"Please help me rest in this fear.  Please help me accept it.  Please help me live in the midst of it.

If it is not time for it to go, please at least help me not to hate it."

I have tears in my eyes writing this now.

Because it feels like relief and it feels like the truth.

The engine on his boat failed so he's paddling.
Lake Powell 2006

I have no idea what Andrew prays for.

We pray silently to ourselves.

In this moment we are neutral with each other.

Maybe he has something just as persistent, something he is trying to pray away too.

I hope he knows I wouldn't pray away any part of him.

I knew I was ready to marry him when I looked across the beach in Lake Powell.

I saw him as a boy and a man at the same time.

I had the distinct thought,

"I don't know what that man has to go through, but whatever it is, I want to be right next to him."

I meant it, and I didn't feel scared of marriage anymore.

After we stand up, the tide of life rushes in to sweep away our safe place.

We become adults again.

I go my way, to change a diaper or unload the dishes.

He chugs his iced coffee.  The screen door slams behind him as he goes to work.

I am alone again.

I used to fear being alone in the house.

I was afraid I couldn't fill up the time with enough goodness to keep the food away.

Or I was afraid to check out, all my energy consumed by denying myself.

Now it is peaceful in the house alone.

I get to write.  

I watch the kids sleep.

I drink coffee and do the laundry.

I feel the ache in my muscles and stretch.

I get ready to listen, play, and go until the sun sets.

Early in recovery I heard,

"3 meals a day and Life in between"

Today I am living it.

He and I leave for Lake Powell in a month.

It will be our 6th year on the water together.

Every time we go, I find the man from the beach, and the little boy.

We get enough momentum to love each other for another 365 days.

Rainbow at Powell