How Do I Love Thee?

What my husband loves best about me is that I ask deep, thought provoking, long-conversation-igniting questions in the dark, as we are lying in bed waiting for the Sandman to lull us to dreamland.

Yeah, probably not.

I can't help it--as I lie there, nestled on the pillow-top mattress, the thoughts just come, and I need to give them a voice, for fear of forgetting them.

So, I ask him, "How do I love you best?"

His reply, "You tell me."

Followed by, "Do I need to take that quiz again, or something?"

I try not to laugh. My poor husband. Early on in our dating relationship I made him read The Five Love Languages, and take the "quiz" in the back. He didn't know what he was getting into when he chose to love a girl with a degree in counseling.

"Nope," I say.

There's no question about it--he loves with words. He always has.

Love drips from his lips like honey.

He compliments.

He encourages.

He lifts me up.

I am adored.

Cherished.

Here's the snag--I struggle to receive his love. I often shrug off his words, argue with him, and even tell him he's wrong.

Love pours from his soul like wine. The best wine. And I don't want a glass, not even a drink. And--seriously!? This girl does NOT say no to a glass of wine!

So, what's the hang up? We're talking about wine here, people!

Truth--I just can't believe my husband.

I look in the mirror, and I see stretch marks, extra skin on my stomach--all flaws from carrying our twin daughters. In my head, those flaws, somehow, make me unworthy of his wooing and his praise, because I'm, physically, no longer the best version of myself.

Since words are how he loves, I'm essentially telling him not to love me. I'm stuffing a rag down his throat and telling him that the way he loves doesn't cut it. I'm throwing that really good, best wine back in his face.

I recently read an article by Aaron Traister, which speaks of this from a man's perspective. He said that the woman he

...married eight years ago looked like an alluring, 26-year-old blank slate waiting to be filled with stories, aglow in the possibilities of youth. But I imagine that staring at a blank page for the rest of your life would get boring, which is why it's so hard for me to understand how she can pinch and grab and criticize the parts of her that tell the best stories of our life. The scars on her belly, the changing shape of her breasts, the lines that are starting to appear on her face — these aren't imperfections; they're what keep me wanting to find out what happens next.

So, this is what I'm thinking:

God declared that I, his creation, is very good.

God saw all he had made, and it was very good.
 Genesis 1:31a

I am so very good, in fact, that he died with my sin on his shoulders, because I am worth saving. Then, for good measure, God blessed me with an incredible husband, who loves me with words that pour out like my favorite drink. 

So, here's where I'm at:

I am going to love my husband by letting him love me, his stretch marked bride.

Letting him love the very good woman, God created.

Letting him love my body for the stories it tells.

Letting his love-words soak into my soul.

Letting his best wine dance on my tongue and run down my throat.

Cheers!
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As Melissa and I have begun our conversations about True Beauty. I've felt like I have work to do in my own life--this is part of that work. My journey to loving and being loved fully and completely.

How do you love your husband?