he knows me

In a whirlwind of a month his birthday has passed, our anniversary celebrated and moments stolen--there are too few of them these days.  We have wined and dined and attempted to watch a movie but the tiredness sets in and it takes three nights instead of one to finish a film. Each evening as we chase, laugh and love our children the clock strikes 7:30 pm and instead of gearing up for our evening alone time we fall exhausted on the couch, on the chair and just stare.  A smile or two breaks through and we laugh, content to be together even he across the room in leather chair and I curled in a ball on couch, pillow in hand.

Yesterday was my birthday. An uneventful number, past thirty a bit but not near enough to forty to fret. Yet still full of teasing as I am to my husband, an elder (but just by a few years).

Sunday was full of  time as an extended family, sweet gifts that warmed my heart - a super-sharp bread knife with wood carved handle, simple pieces of jewelry from others, finally my own angel food cake pan as my mother's sits borrowed often in my kitchen, each a cherished treasure. But my husbands gift made my spirits soar.  He knows me so well.

Wise Words for Moms   for my wall.  How I long to impart scripture and wisdom to my children.  To ensure that my reproofs are sound and followed by encouragement.

All About Growing Fruits, Berries and Nuts as I am always hoping to maximize our space, nourish our family and spend time outdoors with our girls.

And my very very favorite gift was beautiful by design, soft to the touch, small enough to carry with me and life altering to open...a new Bible.  Genesis recently fell out of my old Bible and while I can hold it together in the safety of our home, it wasn't practical carry with me. I want it with me.

That was Sunday.

Monday started out so well. A box of chocolates, morning prayer to my Beloved--with my beloved, smiles and coos from Charis and then shattering the calm, voices of two little girls through the monitor bursting into song at the first light of the morning. "Old MacDonald had a farm...In Christ Alone, my hope is found!," we read, we sang, we made bread...it was delightful.

Until the day, like so many, began to unravel. One baby not sleeping, one sister waking another from her afternoon nap, whiny mouths, grouchy hearts, potty accidents, tears, clutter, dog hair on the vacuumed rug, dishes beginning to pile in the clean kitchen, pinto beans dropped and scattered on the stove, in burner pans, on the floor.  Hopes of a delicious dinner fading; hopes of any dinner fading. More tears, now of the mama kind.

4:58pm No dinner, no hope, only frustration and tears. Loss of the bigger picture. What really matters.

And then, a phone call. "Honey, I'm on my way home. Do you need anything? I forgot to tell you I wanted to take you and the girls out for dinner. I forgot to tell you."

A split second moment of thinking, that would have been so nice to know, disappeared into waves of gratitude and a few more tears.  Oh how he knows me.

Dinner on a patio, girls in pink dresses, ending the day with family worship our inharmonious voices singing "Holy, Holy, Holy," and then the sound of 7:30pm. Rustling and whispers in the monitor of girls settling into their beds, then silence.

A smile or two breaks through and we laugh, content to be together even he across the room in leather chair and I curled in a ball on couch, pillow in hand.

And I sigh with contentment for he knows me.

I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.