Sunday

Firstly, I have to thank Beverly at la la love learn and laugh for tagging me with the Liebster Award.

I like this award because it is geared toward newer blogs, or blogs that don't have quite as many followers as some others.

Here are the rules: 

1. Choose five up and coming blogs with less than 200 followers to award
2. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them. If you're not already a follower of their blog, that might be a great way to show appreciation for the award.
3. Post the award on your blog. Be sure to link back to the 5 blogs you awarded so that others can visit them.

I want to give this award to Laura at Loving Life in Love. I haven't been ready for very long, but I immediately loved her home improvement post. Laura has a great sense of style and great posts. She also has the cutest dogs you have ever seen. 

 

I mean she posted this picture: 

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You have to love it. 

So I have been thinking that my Sunday posts will be art that I love. Poems, songs, paintings, anything that strikes my fancy. 

I posted a link to this during Pinterest Wednesday, but I wanted to post it again in its entirety. It is one of the most beautiful descriptions of marriage I have ever found. It makes me tear up every time. 

The Bravest and Most Beautiful Affair 

By Ann Voskamp 

In his sleep, he finds my hand.

It’s the only one I’ve ever known.

Hand in mine, that wraps around a waist, draws in close, slumbering strength always holding on.

I don’t know how another man’s skin feels.

My grandmother lived that kind of courage. The kind that made a vow and had the bravery to let it age.

The wrinkled faithfulness of monogamy, it can look pedestrian, the kind that finishes well, parades up through the Arc de Triomphe, battle scarred, and the tourists just blithely shuffle by, pigeons taking to oblivious wing. She told me about this.

I remember it, nights like these.

How she said that the bravest love is wildly faithful and it falls hard again every morning. How it puts the toilet seat down and the cap on the toothpaste and winks for those already-won eyes. It knows what we seek may be found in what we already have. And there can always be this — the allure of the vows.

I feel his skin, his hand around me in sleep. We sleep like this this night after years of nights, light of the moon stretching long across our room, the pillows, us growing old in this romanced ordinary. It’s grace and fresh gratitude that can make us strong enough to marvel in the seeming monotony of anything. And the happily married have eyes that look long enough to make the familiar new. When he comes up behind me and hugs me at the stove, I still whisper it to him: “I still can’t really believe I get to be married to you.” Grandma washed Grandpa’s underwear for fifty six years, and she said it was always so good.

Warm it falls on the nape of my neck, his sleep breath, close. I press closer. There’s this beautiful drama’s in a long faithfulness and aged love might be heroic. God knows the passion of a covenant.

His stubble rubs my shoulder.

He makes me, shape and rib, and my head’s full of how we’ve known each other and how he still is mystery and how the want is still all his. We sleep in matrimony and it is holy —

us just laying together here in a breath of forever…

Painting of Paris by Paul Ferney

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