God often speaks to me thematically. When I allow enough white space in my life, I see the connections–the places where He wants to get my attention. I am in a season where God is unveiling a dot to dot puzzle inside my heart, and I can’t color fast enough to keep up with him. It is thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. He’s outlining a path for me to be more of who I was intended to be. But I have to leave a big suitcase behind. And although I have baggage, it’s really cute and it matches my other accessories. It’s hard to let go.

One of the dots was connected the other night when a dear friend came over to hang out after the kids went to bed. It was one of those peaceful nights when the kids were asleep before she arrived, and the living room was picked up. I’d Windexed the sliding glass window, lit some candles, and added soulish itunes to the air. Rich is on a trip, so it was girls’ night. Our goal was to speak more than three sentences to each other without a child crawling on us. She brought her jammies. I’d been wearing mine for hours. We talked about the stuff from your guts that you bravely whisper out loud only a handful of times in your life. It was holy.

One of the things I keep thinking about was a conversation we had about marriage. How when you marry the right person, when you don’t give up in the hard times, you start to become more of who you were made to be. I was reminded of how many times I am able to hide who I really am and what I am really thinking, feeling, and battling when I am going about day to day life. I try so hard to be ‘good’ and what I think that others want and need me to be. I am trying to do less of this, but old habits die hard.

Then I get home and I try to hide from Rich, but it doesn’t work anymore–especially after almost 13 years of marriage. He’s figured me out. He knows when I am trying to hide. He sees the licked spoon in the kitchen sink, sees the withdrawal for Starbucks on the debit card past my monthly coffee budget, knows when I’ve hit the snooze button for the third time, and trips over the pile of laundry that still isn’t folded. Sometimes I think that I don’t really want to be known so well. The darkness tells me that it isn’t safe for someone to know what a mess you really are.

The baffling thing is that in spite of all of this, Rich loves me the most. I am his favorite, and he is mine.

The reality is that Rich is the one who has learned how to preemptively grab me in the dark when I’m about to have a nightmare. Rich is the one who holds me in the light when the tears come gushing as I battle the voices that taunt me with lies about who I am. He knows my tactics, bad habits, and sorrows better than anyone ever has. He knows my deepest darkest secrets. He’s the one who once shelved his dream to put our family first. He’s the one who continues to prioritize us day in and day out when there are things he’s rather be doing.

I just walked our dog and enjoyed a few minutes to think more about the conversation the other night. I was pondering the implications in my life that I am Rich’s favorite. On the sidewalk, it dawned on me that the thing that Rich does the best is love. He’s really good at strategy sessions. He can plan a ministry and has an excellent ear for foreign languages. He’s an Eagle Scout. He’s a great athlete. He’s a world traveler. But at the end of the day, what he does best is that he loves people well. He is fiercely loyal. He is a cheerleader. He is generous. He is brave and courageous with his love.

He’s exactly what I needed. My husband is not perfect. But he is perfect for me.