“She held his hand like she never wanted to let him go,” my husband told me quietly one evening. It’d been a tough day. A co-worker whom my husband deeply respected was losing his battle with cancer. He and his wife had stopped by the office to pick up his things and say goodbye. He was a tremendously talented man, a father of three young children, husband of a beautiful wife, and he had a contagious passion for life.
My husband’s words replayed in my mind as I cut the grass the following afternoon. It was an unusual statement from my husband, and it caused me to think and to pray.
“Lord, is that what my husband wants – to know he is so deeply loved that I never want to let him go?” The question simmered for a couple of weeks till one afternoon a friend asked me how I was doing. When I hesitated and shrugged, she asked again, wanting more than a cursory, “Fine.”
“I’ve been in more pain than usual,” I slowly admitted, “and I’m retreating from the world again. Communicating is difficult when the pain is bad, and sometimes, it requires more energy than I’m willing to invest.”
Saying those words aloud – willing to invest – sliced straight through to my soul. I hadn’t realized that selfishness often crept in with the pain. I wondered how often I’d expected my husband to know what I was feeling, to understand my frustration, my increasing loneliness and isolation, to somehow figure out, without being told, how difficult communication can be for me when the pain is bad.
Too often, I guessed. Likely, far too often.
I’d been expecting my husband to read my mind, but he can’t. Only God can, and though He knows every single word I’m going to speak before I say it, that isn’t enough even for God.
For not even God wants a one-sided relationship.
Instead, He longs to spend time with me, longs for me come to Him in prayer, to sit at His feet and rest in His presence. And if all that is true of God, how can it be any less true of my husband?
Suddenly, my husband’s words began to make sense.
We all long to be loved.
My silence wasn’t just isolating me, it was isolating my husband too. Cutting us off from one another.
My husband longed not only for my words, but also for my touch. To know that he is loved. Deeply. Personally. Intimately.
Like I never want to let him go.
More Posts From Cindee
SUFFERING PRODUCES PERSEVERANCE The phone rang. It was 3am. “Hello?” “Mom,” my son Sam said so quietly I almost couldn’t hear him, “can you come get me?” Eight months earlier, Sam had walked across the stage in cap and gown, head held high, a smile playing at the edges of his lips...
I was sitting at a table, laptop open, poetry books, hot tea, notebook, and pen spread before me when I saw it, a bright green dot of light dancing at my feet. Half a lobby away sat my son, laser pointer in hand, chuckling. Minutes later, he crossed the lobby, plunked himself in the chair...
Cindee Snider Re
Author and Co-Founder at Chronic Joy Ministry, Inc.
Cindee is a wife of 28 years to the man she loves most in this world, mama of five world-shaking creatives (18-27), author of Discovering Hope, Finding Purpose, Embracing Worth and I Take You in Sickness and in Health, photographer, craver of quiet, lover of cotton, denim, Jesus and tea, and co-founder of Chronic Joy®. Cindee and four of her five kids have Ehlers-Danlos, dysautonomia, intractable migraine, and myriad co-existing conditions, through which they're learning the deeper the valley, the greater their capacity for joy.