He needs me not but benefits just the same
And I am there to fill his tummy, help out at river races.
Then the nights return with my special kind of hell
And he brings me this or that to get the ravages of illness to stop.
Both are love in their simplest forms:
Meant to serve, to go beyond what is comfortable to desires of the heart.
Oh that my end could be gentler, the wretchedness, the pain
Making the care less traumatic between seemingly timed screams for hours on end.
But that is not our story at least for this season of life
(We define our bond in sickness and in health)
In moments at edges of the extreme . . . for over five years now.
We are weary from the journey with bodies broken with fatigue
Where only the Holy Spirit can infuse us with grace to carry us through the nights and days.
So when those pundits talk formulas of 50-50 or equations of sort
Plunge them into our caldron and see how the overflow of energies exceeds the common core.
Marriage is simply the art of taking turns without keeping score
The Heavenly Father sees the man, the woman and makes you what you are:
Instruments of His hands, ministers of His peace
Care that makes love come alive, pictures of His glory.
One day we will know why
this all came about
In the meantime I will take my turn when it comes
And serve my beloved for a purpose beyond . . .