Custom Spot

Patients are scattered all around this fluorescent-lighted recovery room. Most old, very old. 

I'm blabbing about the weather to the nurse. I play with my the Gobstopper size pearl in my left ear. 

Andrew's eyes are on Oliver.  A blanket of anesthesia renders Oliver's small frame motionless. 

Andrew's eyes have newly born wrinkles on the outer rims. These months have given birth to gray hair and midnight wakenings when sleep won't come. Even on that exhausted face, those blue eyes I adore broadcast an ardent love. Shimmery tears appear as he holds the plump hand of his only son. 

And I've seen that look before...love, unpolluted.

I think of finding those two on the worn-in, toddler stained leather couch. Oliver nestled into his strong right arm. Just so. Always that certain little set-up they have. Oliver gets in position: then relaxes under the beefy semi-circle of muscles and warmth. His head pressed firmly into flesh and tendons of the man whose DNA made him. He quiets under the gentle strokes of loving hands on his warm head.

One night in bed I ask Andrew if I can try this position for myself. I want to know what it feels like, to be nestled in the crook of such a perfect arm. As I wiggle in position I realize... I do not fit. 

And why would I? For that is a custom spot. 

August 4th

Please pray, this day, for Andrew. For a calm heart, a patient soul and strength to lead his family in a time of great uncertainty. 

August 5th

Since this began with Oliver, we've been dedicated to strengthening our marriage. Pray that our marriage would continue to flourish and deepen despite the constant stress.