It’s Valentine’s weekend and there’s love in the air. Or so I’ve been told.
I’m reading this book that is so rich in wisdom, so full of grace, mercy and thankfulness. I’m in awe of the way God puts things together for our good. For our growth. For His glory.
One line that struck me yesterday and continues to work its way inside of me is this: Love is not passion~ it is the pulse of sacrifice.
Can we even begin to grasp the sacrifice that LOVE makes? Can we continue one moment longer without acknowledging who it is who sacrifices for us?
My husband is a man who has sacrificed much. He may not look at it that way, but he has. A good husband sacrifices for his family.
We’ve had 4 babies. Thankfully, my husband has been able to be present for each and every birth. He is the first one who has held all of our children. He has stayed by my bedside, without sleep and made sure that all is well before he leaves……
Yes, he leaves. He leaves because there is work to do. A paycheque to be earned. There is a new mouth to feed. More bills to pay and the burden falls squarely on him. He is a hero. He is my hero.
How can a man, who has witnessed the birth of his first child, a son, pick himself up on a short few hours of sleep and work a 10 hour day? And then return to the hospital to share in the moments that pass so quickly. How can he? He must. He has no choice. And he doesn’t think about a choice. What is choice? When a real man steps up and takes responsibility for his family it is instinct. It is a guttural reaction.
My husband left his wife and his newborns 4 times. And I love him for it. What kind of man would he be if he decided that he needed to be with his baby for a week, a month or more when there are bills to pay? Men sacrifice much for us.
My guy is also my protector. There are prowling, scurrying, scary creatures that roam and seek to get me. Mice, squirrels, birds. I can barely manage to type their names. My man comes running. Broom in hand, gloves on, gun if need be. He scoops up the carcasses. He destroys the rodents. He doesn’t expect ME to do it. NO! He knows I can’t~ I won’t. It is he who saves me.
My cousin told me recently how last summer when she was getting ready for work she caught sight of a brown fur ball running under her dishwasher. Her husband, with barely 4 hours of sleep from harvesting all night was sleeping soundly. Not wanting to disturb him, she climbed up on the table. She waited. And then she called. At first , it was a small voice. “Pete” and soon…. “PETER!!”(in Low German I’m sure it was Pieter!!!! ) Poor Pete, barely able to form a thought on his own, thought nothing of the fact that his wife was grossly unable to tackle this particular problem and willingly, graciously came to her rescue. Now THAT’s a husband!
Husbands get dirty. And you know what? They don’t mind! It’s an amazing thing to watch a man work. Changing tires, oil, fixing and cleaning…oil stained hands, dry and calloused. Those are man hands.
I remember as a little girl touching my dad’s hands. They were so rough. I thought they were wonderful. Why Dad could have dirt under his nails and it never bothered Mom, I could not understand. Mom came after me with my bit of dirt and tore into them with the nail file! Ouch! But not Dad’s. I know now~ Dad earned the right to have those dirty hands. Those dirty hands meant work was getting done, chores were finished, cows were fed, bills were going to be paid.
Husbands are awesome with tired kids. Ever notice how as a mom you can be at your wits end, ready to bury your head in the blankets and never come out? And what does Husband do? He comes home, after his long day at work. He tickles, he teases, he feeds, he cuddles, he reads and he tucks in. Does he complain? No. Why? Because he’s a real man and real men love their kids and love their wife enough to know when she’s done.
Our kids are older now. Things have changed in our house. Roles are not what they were 10 years ago. But my husband still bails me out every day. He drags his butt out of bed to wake sleepy kids. He straps on a snowboard and goes all day to hang with them. He still works till his hands are calloused. He still picks up the dead mouse the cats brought in. He still pulls out the vacuum when he sees I’ve had enough.
And someday, when we’re older, greyer and probably crankier~ he’ll still be my hero, my protector and he’ll still be sacrificing every day. Cause that’s what he does. His love is the pulse of sacrifice for me.
Happy Valentine’s Day to my love.