Growing up, I did not see much of that...I saw a lot of running away from spirituality, a lot of denial of God's Presence, a lot of last-minute acceptance when there was no other recourse. Except for my grandfather, the other father figures seemed aloof from the pursuit of this.
And yet this God I love and believe in, this real and amazingly supernatural God, answered those quiet prayers whispered as 11-year-old eyes witnessed the complexity of the male species in my world. He sent one. Others may say God has very little to do with the choices we make in selecting a lifelong partner. While in form and physicality He may not be as involved, because the embodiment of love can change shape when one man dies and another appears, He is involved in the means for love to find us all. He intends for love to find us.
I believe that most of all, after meeting Mr. such a short time ago. Everyday, like a gift, he is unfolded before my eyes. More of his ability to dig deeper into himself, the most risky move a man can make in front of a woman, is bringing to life the parts of him that once remained hidden from view. I love it. I love it the more I see him reveal his heart to me. I consider it the most priceless gift I have ever been given.
Mr. opened the well-worn covers of the Bible held in his hands, seeking a Word from this God that we both love. He cracked that cover open and I couldn't help but snap a photo of masculine spirituality at work. His rough hands held the Book close to his chest as his eyes slowly took in each Word. These hands work on parts in a factory all day. These hands pull me into his embrace as his arms hold me close, after this work is over. These hands have touched many things, but in the moment the picture was snapped the only thing that mattered more than any of it was how he held that Bible.
Mr. tells me about Isaiah 51 - how God whispers the mystery in his ear of why the hard times come and how best to view his role in the world around him. He says prayers before meals, that do not even really deal with the preparation of the food, the ones that prepared it, though he does mention it as part of the many blessings God so graciously provides us. What strikes me as rich is how he doesn't customarily recite the words he learned as a child round a dinner table. He speaks "grown man prayers" as his faith has grown up and he has seen, witnessed, dealt with many issues in life that point to a God that has always walked with him. Mr. says these"intercessory prayers" and my heart is enamored with the deep bass of his voice reminding God of who He is.
He lifts his hands to heaven - these same hands that have done so much. And he makes me want to lift mine, repent of everything I have ever done wrong, embrace this God that loves us both - not that I didn't spend a lifetime wanting to do this before. The thing is, when Mr. does it, the lesson hits home about what it really means for the man to be the priest of the home. I feel the protection in ways that having to cover myself all these years never really taught me. Mr. is doing for us both what is in his real nature to do.
We say a man is supposed to work; you don't work, you don't eat. This is true across the board no matter what faith you ascribe (subscribe) to. But what makes my faith in this God above us most true of all is the fact that Mr.'s work, his natural and supernatural work in this earth realm, feeds me too. It feeds me. I get fat off the work he is doing with hands lifted, Bible held in rough hands, mind and heart internalizing more of God.
He seeks Words from God and then he prays words to God. When he does this, in his no-nonsense masculine manner, he reminds me of my grandfather - the only man I ever heard pray before I sought faith on my own. Mr. reminds me of the past, the present, and the future all at the same time. Mr. does for me what I need from a marriage.
Thank God.
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