Why can't my husband be more like you?

Oh Lord,

Some days I just ask myself this question.  "Why can't my husband be more like you?"

I mean really, you love me perfectly.  You know what I'm thinking.  I mean, you know what I'm REALLY thinking.  You know what I like, as opposed to what I tolerate. You just automatically know what I want for my birthday.  I don't have to tell you things. You get me.  Sometimes I wish he could do that.  Sometimes I wonder if he's from another planet.

 In all fairness to Luke, he was NOT there when I was knitted together in my mother's womb.  He didn't choose my eye color or hair color.  He didn't choose my freckles or dimples, or the size of my... personality.  He did choose to be married to me, however.  He did choose to date me and marry me and breed with me, so if our kids are weird, it's not like he didn't know what I brought to the genetic party.  He just didn't know me like YOU know me, Lord.  He can't.  He's not God.
 

Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy and all, but he DOES drive me nuts.  Frequently on purpose. And it is my understanding that it's MY JOB to help get this guy into Heaven.  Yikes. It's ACTUALLY easier to love you than it is my dear sweet wacky husband!  You came with a manual (the Bible) and a "top ten list of pet peeves and intolerables". Luke came with a completely different family dynamic, and a whole different language which includes phrases like "reverend" and "tolitsises." (I am still unclear of the meaning on that one.) He tends to say things backwards, like, "You really liked shoveling the driveway." Which means "Are you going to shovel the driveway?"  Or (speaking to the kids) "Your Mom's thinking of taking a nap."  Which, if one looks around, is preposterous, since Mom's up to her facial cheeks in whatever 5 things she's trying to accomplish simultaneously. After 19 years of marriage there are still so many things I don't understand.

For example, if I live a hundred years, I might not understand why either of you love me like you do.  I mean, CLEARLY my exquisite good looks are a big attraction, but seriously.  You both know so many of my flaws, and choose to love me anyway. I've failed you both time and again, and you stay.  You both love me through my cranky days, and through my happy days.  You love me when I'm soaring with joy and happiness, and full of feelings of success.   You loved me when I couldn't find an ounce of happiness, and when I found things so bleak I was incapable of loving back. He sat by my side when I couldn't remember my thoughts from one minute to the next, and would have stayed by my side, even if I'd never gotten my memory back. You both watched me die, and helped me live again.

It takes both of you to love me like that.

Thankfully, when we married, we were all three in on that commitment. As much as you and I love each other, I know you have that with him too.  I know he talks to you, and you love him better than I ever could.  You chose his blue eyes, and his rapid growing facial hair.  You chose his great big heart, and his sense of humor that makes me want to punch him in the face sometimes.  You love him so much, and I do too.

I'm so glad you love us both.  Help me get him to Heaven.  Help him get me there, too.

Love,

Me.  


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