Back when I didn’t know things, I thought I would marry my best friend and we would spend every night hanging out and laughing and eating popcorn and you know . . . all those things you see married people do. In the movies.
But the reality is . . . this isn’t reality.
And while I still have so much to learn, I do know this: the thing about marrying your best friend is a great concept but at the end of the day, I’m not sure how realistic that really is either.
I married one of my best friends who happens to know me in a very different way than my other best friends know me (and no, not just in THAT way).
I understand the meaning behind “I am marrying my best friend” and I’m happy for couples who feel such a deep connection, but I don’t think our husbands are supposed to fill a hole our heart sisters are supposed to fill.
All of our emotional needs can be fulfilled in the truth He tells us.
But as far as earthly relationships go, putting the pressure on our husbands to be our best friends just might be asking a little too much.
It’s true that on most days, I feel close to my husband and I’ve seen growth in our marriage. It’s a work in continuous progress.
But on other days, we are on opposite hemispherses and I wonder if we even live on the same planet.
I don’t think I can say it any better than Robin O’Bryan who wrote an article for the Huffington Post entitled I’m Not Married to My Best Friend: “I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasize about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I can’t say the same for ole Zeb (her husband.)”
My husband is my husband and that’s how it’s supposed to be. My best friends are my best friends, my heart sisters. And that’s how that’s supposed to be.
And while it’s true he may not understand me at times nor I him, we’re doing this life thing together and sometimes we need to encourage each other.
When this happens, this encouraging from my spouse, I’m reminded by how good it feels to be encouraged by the man I love.
Which reminds me that maybe he likes to be encouraged by me now and then, too.
Despite the frustrated sighs of a sink-full of dishes, despite the moments when our discussions are going nowhere, despite the exhausted words spoken too short, despite it all . . .
We choose to keep playing this game.
If I leave in the evening, he turns on the front lights so I will find my lighthouse when it’s dark upon my return.
He goes to be a dentist and I try to make sure he has something for lunch.
I have a colossal meltdown over something to do with technology, he tells me to move and takes care of it.
We take care of each other. We carry each other. Sometimes we do it really well and sometimes we do a not-so-stellar job.
Regardless of how we do it, we do it. We keep choosing to play.
And that’s joy unspeakable.
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