Strawberry Patch
My husband is an avid gardener, and left to his own devices, he would happily transform our entire yard into a garden. But, with all our kids and a dog, well, it's not going to happen. But he loves his garden. It's high summer now in the Northeast, and his garden is lovely.
Perfectly straight rows. Not a weed in sight. It's a work of art as well as a labor of love. My pictures just can't do it justice.
But in the midst of it all is a strawberry patch. He put it in just for me because I wanted them. And I do manage to get the few that the chipmunks and children don't get. But it's a wild part of the garden, blocked off by a crooked wall made of old bricks and pieces of sandstone.
One day, as I looked out the dining room window at the garden, I thought how it served as a picture of our marriage. I am not a stickler for detail, but my husband is. I like to start something and sit back to see what happens, while my husband likes to attend to every step in the process. My husband surrounds my fluctuating emotions and insecurities with his level-headedness and stability and dependability. He lets me flourish within his protective care.
We are so different, he and I, so completely opposite of one another. But just like the strawberry patch growing wild and crazy in the garden, we fit together somehow and it makes sense.
I never would have picked this man all on my own. I know God had a heavy hand in the whole affair of me meeting and not being able to help myself from falling in love with this man.
And he even grows some tomatoes just for me, so that I can eat them green and fried.
Perfectly straight rows. Not a weed in sight. It's a work of art as well as a labor of love. My pictures just can't do it justice.
But in the midst of it all is a strawberry patch. He put it in just for me because I wanted them. And I do manage to get the few that the chipmunks and children don't get. But it's a wild part of the garden, blocked off by a crooked wall made of old bricks and pieces of sandstone.
One day, as I looked out the dining room window at the garden, I thought how it served as a picture of our marriage. I am not a stickler for detail, but my husband is. I like to start something and sit back to see what happens, while my husband likes to attend to every step in the process. My husband surrounds my fluctuating emotions and insecurities with his level-headedness and stability and dependability. He lets me flourish within his protective care.
We are so different, he and I, so completely opposite of one another. But just like the strawberry patch growing wild and crazy in the garden, we fit together somehow and it makes sense.
I never would have picked this man all on my own. I know God had a heavy hand in the whole affair of me meeting and not being able to help myself from falling in love with this man.
And he even grows some tomatoes just for me, so that I can eat them green and fried.
Comments
Post a Comment