The Pursuit of Seeing: I Choose You

When semesters get going, we feel the tension like a ton of bricks piled atop our lungs.

And because the boys are of jabbering age now, and progressing in vocabulary every moment, our time to really see each other is limited.

You sat there at the table, eating your leek soup with heavy eyelids– I could see them, because your glasses came off the minute you stepped in the door and rubbed your brow.

I shut off Gilmore Girls and the tap water when I saw you.

I heated up my coffee and sat down across from you, thinking, This is nice.

Then Isaiah woke up. My coffee got cold, and you grew more exhausted, rubbing your brow again.

I moved to the recliner to nurse him back to sleep, and you met with me across the room, huddled up on the black sofa.

You told me the news of your day, the gory game theory details and the vocabulary I’ll never quite understand.

There, in that moment, I looked at you and reminded myself of the treasure we have in each other, this relationship that has built upon itself every day over the last seven years.

And I told myself that these moments are the meat George Herbert talks about:

You must sit down, says Love,

and taste my meat:

So I did sit and eat.

These tiny, flickering, quickly come-and-gone spaces are life to us, the filling of our bellies and souls for every season.

And they are the moments I must choose, embrace, claim for our hearts, for our marriage and our family.

So when it’s quiet and you’re near, I choose you.

And when I’m barely able to catch your eye, I choose you.

When we’re knee deep in dishes and papers are due, I choose you.

And when the kindness of the Spirit huddles us close, I choose you.

And we sit and glean from Him, our souls becoming as children, molded by the words of their Father.

There, I choose you, too.

Once a month, we’re pursuing sight and viewing the dailyness of our lives with fresh vision and fresh spirit.

To read more from the series, click here.