my spot
I call it my spot, that place right beside where I seem to melt into him like a carefully sculpted, invisibly bonded part; that place I best know how to fit. It is a place carved in the shape of me.
In the early morning, this is how we pray: He reaches for me, and I move close, settling my ear over his heart, pressing my hand flat against a groove in his chest that’s only mine to know. Together, we silently walk away from this temporary shade and into the full, bright, blinding light, seeking our King. The things I say to God, the words I reserve just for Him, fly heavenward as we breathe, and the things God says to me flow back through me like a river, their rushing sound accompanied by the sound of my husband’s heartbeat. I feel the warmth of life—my love’s life—beneath my open hand while I lay everything I carry at my Father’s feet.
It’s not a long time—never really long enough for me—but it’s time I need, time that centers me carefully on the order of things; time that reminds me how to focus on what will last; time that carefully marks how things begin and how they will end. From that space, that carved out place where we dwell with God together, we launch a day and also a lifetime. An eternity blooms there. It seems like the smallest thing—those moments we offer each other before time and responsibility catch us up again in a fury, but then, Word says the Kingdom is like the tiniest seed that “when planted…grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade (Mark 4:32).” And so, Riley is our bird, perched beside us on the bed, reading the weather report softly—the extended forecast for three cities—well sheltered by the canopy of our embrace.
Most days I linger in my spot as long as I can, savoring warmth and breathing and completeness–the oneness of marriage, the oneness of our marriage with Him, the completeness of joy. I desire to remain just there–in our love and in His, in this space untainted by selfishness and suffering. “If you keep my commands,” the King says, “you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you (John 15:10-12).”
We break away physically because this life is a sending forth, a traveling with God, a following, but the unseen bond of the Spirit remains, tethering us all together. I close my eyes one last time and slide away, planting my feet on the floor, gathering the day’s opportunity in my fingers. I know that as the afternoon exhales and the sunlight fades in the sky—if God chooses to bless us so again, I will put down whatever I hold in my hands when this man of mine walks in the door and I will find my way right back into his arms, right back to my spot, to the place I best know how to fit, to this space in his side carved in the shape of me.
I plant my feet on the floor knowing this: that this is how it’s meant to be with God and us. We are husband and wife and together the tiniest part of His bride, just a Kingdom seed. But the branches have grown tall and wide, and there’s a place in Christ’s side sword-carved in the shape of us, a place where we’re meant to settle close and place our ears right over His heart; a place where we’re meant to lay our hands empty and flat against a groove in His chest that is ours alone to know and feel the warmth of Him; a place where the things He says to us rush through us with the sound of His heart beat. It’s a place we need; a place blinding with light; a place where eternity blooms. And maybe the time we spend here seems like a small thing, like something less urgent, like it could hardly matter if we miss it. But this is time we need. For these moments we offer Him—the moments He offers to us—they are the moments that center us carefully on the order of things; the moments that remind us how to focus on what will last; the moments that carefully mark how things began and how they will continue forever. In these precious moments, we launch a day and a lifetime.
“For your Maker is your husband— the Lord Almighty is his name— the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; he is called the God of all the earth (Isaiah 54:5),” and in the early morning, He reaches.
