Can I just brag about my husband for a minute? I’m lying in bed under a heated blanket in the middle of the afternoon while he’s out there banging around in the kitchen (if he’s making dinner I’m going to have to come back here and brag even more) while our son crawls around banging on spoon and choking on what is more than likely pine needles we still have lying around from our Christmas tree. I hear his little baby coughs and I hear his daddy making sure he’s okay.
I’m sure he’s okay. He’s a tough kid.
Update: Hubby just walked in and informed me dinner is chicken wrapped in bacon. How awesome is that man?
My husband is sick today. He came home from work exhausted and achey and collapsed on the sofa. I collapsed next to him and complained about how much attention our son needed today. I shouldn’t have complained; my day was a cake walk compared to his—seriously, I paid bills, did some online business training, cuddled a fussy baby, and folded laundry. I even got to sleep in. If I was to write about all my husband did in his work day, it would take up the rest of this post.
And yet who is lying in bed blogging and who is cooking dinner and watching the baby?
I’m not writing this post because my husband is making me dinner—I actually intended to write it this afternoon and got distracted by bills and his servant hearted actions now are simply the cherry on top.
A few days ago, I admit I was thinking about writing a post geared towards the under-appreciated and overworked mom—because I related to them. I still will write that post but the purpose will be to encourage those moms, because in the last few days I’ve done some blessing counting and first I need my husband to know how he’s appreciated.
I tell him but never enough. Today, instead, I want to tell everybody.
Bragging on our spouses is an art that has been lost–now we only do it when our spouse does something particularly noteworthy. In fact, bragging on our spouses shouldn’t be an art at all. It takes a few seconds of thought and a grateful spirit and there are ten million things that come to mind.
My husband is an example to me of Christ’s sacrificial love. He loves me the way Christ loves me and the way Christ tells husbands to love their wives. My husband doesn’t often get things he wants because he understands all too well that happy wife, happy life is real. I laugh at that phrase but I know that it shows I’m selfish and he loves me anyway.
I have my own business working from home and it requires a lot of time, a lot of money, and a lot of sacrifice, but Hubby has supported me 100% and encouraged me to go to business training, purchase materials, and try new products. He reads every one of my blog posts (hi, babe!) and goes on walks with me after a morning of rucking with 65lbs on his back.
He has fascinating stories and constantly works to better himself. He is my essential oils guinea pig and allows me to slather him with all sorts of Young Living products to find successes to share. He does a lot of big things to love me, but mostly he’s mastered the art of the little things.
When we’re upset with our spouses all the little things add up. He didn’t pick up the laundry off the floor, he tracked in dirt again, why aren’t the dishes in the sink, great–as if I needed another person to clean up after. Oh, it is easy to use our words to berate our husbands for the little things. But the little things such as when he put his phone down to look at you while you were talking even when he just wants to be alone and zone out after a long day at work? We don’t notice. I can think of all sorts of dirt on what my husband hasn’t done recently, but if you asked me what he has done I would mention dinner tonight and then my mind would draw blank.
This shows how important it is for me to be intentional about noticing the little things, but it also shows me that my great marriage is mostly made up of those little things, because that strength doesn’t come from nowhere. We don’t keep our relationship strong with a huge deposit every once in awhile–it’s faithfully depositing small amounts often.
Like names.
At my sister-in-law’s wedding, I called my husband “babe” and his brother chuckled.
“Babe? How original…” he commented.
My husband looked back and winked at me, because babe is used solely in public when sexy is hardly an appropriate word to be throwing around. At home, we are Sexy Man and Sexy Woman, because when you’re having a fight and you couldn’t just throw your clothes in the basket, could you, Sexy Man? comes up, it’s hard not to reconsider how I really feel about him.
We say I love you every time we end a conversation on the phone or every time one of us is going somewhere else, even if it’s just leaving the living room to take a nap. I make sure his Shakeology is ready for breakfast every morning before he goes to work and he makes me breakfast on Saturday so I can have some time to myself. We say please and thank you and we always pray before bed and then kiss goodnight. They’re little, simple, obvious things, and they’re what keeps our marriage thriving with the Marine Corps and my business pulling the focus one way and our son pulling it the other.
That’s why I still call him Sexy Man –it’s not out of habit and it’s not because we’re silly or cheesy or naive newlyweds.
It’s because it’s a tiny thing that reflects a big feeling.
The tiny things in my marriage reflect our big love and the million tiny things my husband does to serve me and because he wants me to be happy reflect his big heart.
Ladies, we are a lot of work. Husbands, sometimes you are a lot of work too. This is what happens what a human marries another human because humans have many needs. My husband has been entirely under-appreciated for how he serves our family recently, and all it took was a few minutes of thinking–the same amount of time it takes for me to throw his cammies in the laundry–for me to recognize what he really does to love me and the baby boy.
That’s not to say the extra isn’t great–surprising each other with pizza, flowers, or a great massage is the bomb…
…But the little things we both do are what keeps the foundation for our marriage strong.
And Jesus–always Jesus.
In seventy years, when we’re old and decrepit and eh, speak up! I can’t hear yer becomes a regular phrase in our house, we will be in our rocking chairs watching the sunset over the Scottish mountains where we’re going to retire. Our arthritis-ridden fingers will be intertwined and he’s going to look over and croak, “Sexy Woman, I’m sorry. I think my sweater missed the laundry basket again.”
Typical.
I’ll glare back and remark, “You couldn’t just throw your clothes in the basket could you, Sexy Man?”
And then I’ll grin, because after seventy years of marriage, he’ll still be my Sexy Man.
It’s the little things.