Safely trusts in her…
I ponder this verse over and over. The heart of my husband safely trusts in me. Safely trusts. His heart safely trusts. In me. Wow… this has been on my mind and in my teaching for years. I have always focused on what I considered to be heart issues. And if/when things seemed out of balance, I have gone back to the heart issues… am I ministering to him, to his needs, to his well being and comfort. Am I trustworthy, have I been faithful, am I attentive to the cares and concerns of his life? Am I listening to him? Do I *hear* what he is saying? Am I sexually attentive and interested in him and do I make sure he knows it? Does he know I think he’s totally “all that!“? Does he have my attention and admiration? Do I split loyalties? Am I behind his back what I am to his face? Does he know I’m not looking around? Am I concerned with his plans and do I pay attention to his conversations? These have all been key factors or key components of what I consider to be a faithful wife—these are things that have been key to me all these years—it’s been of paramount importance that my husband’s heart safely trusts in me. I love him.
All these years I have been practically and literally loving him to death.
I love to cook; and I can make great awful food. And I have, all these years.
I know that it might seem I’m making too much over this weeks turn of events or am attempting to shoulder all the responsibility for the food my husband has swallowed. I know I have been making stuff he likes. And lots of it. And all along the way I’ve also made some great things that have been very, very good for him. This isn’t a total guilt trip. He’s made some changes in recent years and some radical changes in recent months. So I know that his eating – our eating is sort of a shared responsibility. I know I didn’t make all the donuts and didn’t pour all the coffee and didn’t stack the hamburgers or salt the fries. And I know I wasn’t the one to make the firm decision some months back to eliminate those foods from his diet. But I also know that I know how to make a heart stopping cinnamon roll. I know how to make heart stopping lasagne and stroganoff. Great salads have accompanied all those meals. Lots of vegetables accompanied those meals. Lots of butter, too. I know how to add just the right amount of salt and fat to make even a purist want another bite. This is not bragging. I’m not altogether proud of this today. But I’m not going to jump off the bridge over it, though, either. But I am waking up.
Eight years ago this morning, my father didn’t. A million pounds of butter, thousands of gallons of cream, tons of steak and buckets of sugar paved the road to heaven for him. I thought about that a lot at that time. I cried over the many years I didn’t know him. I cried over the things I didn’t learn from him (and maybe that’s for the better ~wink~). Even made some major changes in my eating habits at that time. And then some months passed. And then some years passed… I perfected some more to-die-
over-for meals. And here I am this morning… knowing that I have played an integral part in my husband’s overall health (and/or lack thereof). I picked up the groceries and turned them into meals and desserts. I knew what he loved and made sure to serve it to him. And joined him.
The party’s not over… we’ve just got to change the venue a bit for both of us. Quite a bit. I don’t really know specifically and exactly what I’ll do… or what I won’t do, but I’m making some practical changes;
The heart of my husband (trusts in me) depends on it. I love him. I love his heart. I want to be around to show him that.