to be ezer

Every time he came into the shop today, he told at least one person she will be my wife soon. I should have gotten used to it, expected it. Instead, every time I found myself ever more undone.

I used to hate that word, wife. It felt degrading, a humiliation. Husband led, planned, named; wife followed, obeyed, answered.

Yet in his eyes, his arms, his voice, I have relearned my broken assumptions.

Wife is a treasure, not to be taken lightly. Wife is a gift, given with deadly-serious joy straight from the hand of the LORD. Wife is a helper, not second-class, but a vital member of the partnership. Wife is refuge; wife is rest; wife is water and new life itself in the dry dead times.

To him, I am not a nice little addendum to his life, someone to quietly cook wholesome meals and clean around the house and wash his dirty socks. I am not a creature to be controlled or dominated or ordered about. Neither am I the controlling factor of his life, someone to whom he grovels before making any decision or around whom his world revolves.

And for all this I am extremely thankful.

To him, I am precious. I don't understand; I do not, I cannot, comprehend why or how he loves me as he does.

But I do know that when he looks at me, blue eyes filled with adoration and delight, and says she will be my wife, that privilege is all I want. To learn to receive his love, and to love him with the power given me by my God. To be his wife. To be his ezer, his helpmeet, his partner, his love.

To be his.

It will be enough. For the rest of my life, it will be enough.


Oh, my Blue Eyes. How grateful I am for the way you have taught me to love. Someday, I pray I can give back to you even half of what you deserve.

How I love you, dearest man.