A Letter to my Love

I lie in bed next to you. Listening to you breathe. Hoping that you are sleeping well, not troubled by the dreams that often plague you.

I know tonight was difficult. I know you don't like facing painful memories. I wish that you could understand that I love you. I only want the best for you (and for our children).

I have loved you for a long time. Even though the nature of that love has changed and grown over the years its existence has endured. In my darkest hours it was there as a fundamental truth. In our darkest hours it was the flickering of hope that refused to be extinguished no matter how adversity howled.

I wonder if you will be next to me when I wake. If you will choose to sneak away in the night for a temporary escape, or a permanent one. I hope not. And I pray not.

I pray a lot for you. Not that you would change. But that you would know love and peace. That you would have a good night's sleep. And if God wills, physical healing.

I pray for change in myself. That I could be the husband that you need, if not always the one you want. That I can provide the support and encouragement you need to fulfill your potential and face your troubles. That I can be the safety and shelter you need when you get overwhelmed by life.

Most of all, I love you. Plain and simple.

143,
YWS