We meet in the doorway between the office and the kitchen and it’s there, my head finds his chest.
Our children spin crazy and argue and grab at our legs and we have a moment, just the two of us.
“Tonight?” he asks.
I close my eyes and sigh. “Maybe,” I say, as quietly as I can.
It’s bathtime and we wrangle these kids and the moment in the doorway is gone. At least for me it is.
Hours tick by on the clock and he writes a sermon. I send email and respond to messages.
I watch him work and I am keenly aware of how much time has lapsed since the last time the two of us became one.
Church planting is not for the faint of heart and for 15 months our hearts have been beating overtime for this place we are called to love.
We’ve spent our time moving from one role to the next and becoming all things to all people so that some may know, and somewhere along this winding path, we have forgotten to spend time on the one thing that makes us, us.
Fatigue has crept in and I’ve spent my nights in front of this screen cultivating relationships with those in my life that don’t sleep next to me every night and in doing so, I’ve missed those late night, middle of the bed meetings with the one person in this world who does.
Thirteen years of marriage, 6 children, 7 moves, 4 different ministries, and this 1 church plant that leaves me unraveling all along my edges, gives Satan just enough thread to bind me to all of the things that distract me from the One who can take all of those loose threads and make something beautiful.
He takes off his glasses and closes his Bible and I know he’s going to turn in.
“Goodnight,” he says, as he leaves the room. “You coming to bed?”
“Soon,” I say. “Soon.”
And I quietly ask the Lord to ignite the fire that used to consume us…