Feminine 101

My favorite part of the day happens at the end. It happens after the light is extinguished and shadows fall. I turn toward the wall and snuggle down under the covers. Almost there. Then it happens. An arm snakes under my head. Another loops over my side. Finally, I feel the strength, the warmth of Mr. Right’s chest against my back. His nose tucks behind my ear, and his warm breath ghosts across my neck. Thousands of nights together, and it never gets old. A lot can go wrong in a day. But nestled in such sweet warmth and safety, all is as it should be. What could possibly harm me there? 

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One such night, I lay awake long after his breathing had deepened, slowing to the steady rhythm of sleep. I was still a very long time, savoring those moments. I held off moving for as long as possible because I knew that the moment I adjusted, he would roll away. Finally, discomfort won over so I maneuvered myself slightly disturbing him so that he, as expected, rolled away. But as he shifted away from my ear, he murmured, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

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Immediately a Proverb came to mind: “The heart of her husband trusts in her…” It’s from the thirty-first chapter and reads more fully, “An excellent wife who can find? Her worth is far above jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her and he will have no lack of gain.” In a moment when his lips are loosened and inhibitions are lowered, that’s what came out? How comfortable does a man of sober countenance have to be to say something so singularly gooey? I positively gloried in this. In the morning, when I told him about it, he didn’t remember anything. I knew that would be the case. It only confirmed what I already knew for certain. His heart is safe with me.

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Much has been made of safe spaces in recent years. People demand a safe space, where they can hear no contrary thought, and nothing can threaten their carefully crafted worldview. As fun as it is to mock this notion for its preposterous expectations, it didn’t spontaneously spring from nowhere. Might I suggest that its roots are more humble, more visceral? 

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Imagine a place where you could be challenged in your thinking and still be loved. Imagine a place where you can be wrong and still be loved, and–more importantly–respected. Imagine a person who has faith in you, even when you fail. If such a place or person existed, would you really need the shoddy substitute modern American institutions attempt to construct? Indeed, in the light of such a fine jewel, the other seems little better than cheap and brittle glass.

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When I mulled over the elements that contribute to our particular safe space, namely our home, a few things come to mind. The first is that there must be peace with him. You cannot hope to provide a peaceful home for your children, if you do not have peace with their father. I am not talking about peace-keeping that timidly tiptoes around the issues or some sort of heavy-handed suppression. I’m talking about a peace that is born out of truth. We are not hiding from the sources of conflict, but addressing them as sensible grown-ups whenever they come. Now this is not to say that we must duke it out over every little thing. Some things, like where you eat for dinner, or turning shirts right-side out, or flipping the toilet paper the right way, are not worth the fight. So, as things arise, you need to be able to sift them quickly. Sometimes, though, we let things go that we need to address. 

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I remember the first time we bought a vehicle together, I let him take the lead. I advised him what to offer with confidence that the dealership would take it. He opted to offer more. They took the deal and we had an old truck for which I was convinced we had paid too much. It really bothered me. I had experience buying vehicles and really getting great deals. All week I stewed about this not quite being able to put a finger on what really bugged me initially. About a week later I brought it up, just one last time. I said I felt like he’d ignored my experience, pointing out that he’d never had to negotiate a vehicle purchase before. I could tell he was annoyed that I’d let him call the shots and then came down on him after the deed was done. But I asked him to trust me in the future. Not long after, when we bought a replacement for our car, we got an amazing deal playing the “good cop, bad cop” routine. 

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The best way to attain a lasting peace in your household is through honesty tempered by love. It is not about going in guns blazing and making sure your spouse sees it your way. It’s about hearing and being heard. It’s about stamping out smoldering issues before they fan into an inferno that consumes your relationship. And, when conflict arises with your husband, remember that you love him and you’re on his side. Which brings us to another element: nobility.

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The history books have much to say about nobility in men. Nearly every story seems to have that noble man whom anyone will follow, who does the right thing even if it destroys him. I cannot remember a time in my life when nobility was applied to women. But there is a serious case to be made for taking the high road. Marriage provides women with a uniquely powerful position to make or break a man. No one knows better than a wife how to hit him where it hurts. We know “where the bodies are buried.” But, if you ever want to be a haven for him, you cannot afford to be petty. There is virtue in forgetting past wrongs, in overlooking shortcomings. And never forget, you have them, too. 

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I remember having a couple over to our house. The husband had a small startup business and was taking on clients. Apparently the wife had advised him not to take this one client because she’d end up being a major headache. Unfortunately for the husband in question, his wife happened to be right. But we heard that same story three times, every time the wife chiming in about how she’d told him not to take that client on. That’s not helpful. The “I told you so” mantra is best left for children. I promise he heard her the first time and likely could have done without hearing it at all. 

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And while we’re on the topic of pettiness, it’s important to say loud and clear: Sex is not to be wielded as a weapon. He’s not some dog performing tricks. He’s your soulmate. I did try this once. I can’t remember what I was mad about, but I put on a tank top and shorts and went to bed. A typical evening for us is limited to the, shall we say, bare necessities. When Mr. Right came to bed, he crawled in and immediately asked, “Are you wearing clothes?” 

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Feeling very sheepish, I responded, “Yes.” Then I started giggling at the absurdity of the situation. It’s just not worth it. 

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Sex is such a powerful tool in a marriage! Don’t waste it by using it as punishment. Besides, if your home is a safe space, the marriage bed is the sanctuary. My favorite part of the day happens there for a reason. The world can be ugly and losing its ever-loving mind. You can have been through hell, but laying in the comfort of your own bed, with the warmth of your lifelong ally beside you? The storms seem at least a little more distant. If he feels the same, he will make getting home to you a priority because that’s where the comfort lives. Alternatively, if you’re wielding sex like a machete, he may eventually find your antics tiresome, yes even hurtful, and look elsewhere. 

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So how does this notion fare after our marriage has a little more mileage on it? In our fifteenth year, I came into the living room. It was morning and the house was still quiet, too early for kids to be up yet. He was leaning against the door frame and it was plain (to me anyway) something was wrong.

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I furrowed my brow in concern. “You look like you don’t feel so great,” I commented. 

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“I feel terrible,” he replied.

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I still haven’t developed a cure-all for colds and flus so I did the next best thing. I went and put my arms around him. He laid his head on my shoulder and I could almost hear the old proverb again. “The heart of her husband trusts in her…”

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