THE CHURNING OF QUIET WATERS

REFLECTIONS

 

 

Day four of our new life together. Scott and I are laying quietly together atop a lounger, under an enormous burgundy umbrella.  We are sitting only feet away from the bright, crystal clear waters of the Caribbean.

 

A gentle breeze carries with it island music as it delivers cool relief.  I am gazing at this water, gorgeous and vivid in its perfect hues.  My hand sifts through the white sand, so soft it comforts me.

 

I see a trail of sweat travel down Scott's temple.  He is hot.  I know he is hot, and he knows I know he is hot. Yet this is where he wants me to be, wedged between his legs, head on his chest.  I quietly grab my towel, wet it and dab it at his face.  He smiles in his sleep and it lights up the sky.  As he peaks out of one eye, his smile breaks free, and my life lights up as my own smile explodes into the heavens.  How I love this incredible man!

 

I feel his hand on my belly as he pulls me back down to him.  I nestle into that space I know so well.  My perfect man leans in to kiss my head and dozes off again with a contented sigh.

In this stillness I gaze out onto that endlessly perfect water, knowing it mimics the time we have spent here.  Out across this serene sea I stare to what will be, knowing that all that surrounds me now lacks reality, an illusion.  And I look out,  far away,  to a land I do not know.  To a place where our new life together will begin.  To a life I am completely unsure as to how to survive.  A role so obscure that I have no way to mentally prepare and no manual to guide me.

How am I to tread these waters, knowing that I am sooo not ready?  

 

 

For I know what life can offer.  It is a place where the seas are not always a perfect hue, calm as still water, or continually warm and inviting.  For I have seen its storms, the reality of life.  And what I have seen can be rocky, cold, and hard and will hurt you when you fall.

 

How can he not see that I'm not ready? 

 How can he possibly not know?  How can he not understand? For I am so far away from what he needs, from what he deserves, from who he is. 

 

Why doesn't he see who really lives inside this shell?  Who lives below this skin, this hair, these eyes;

 

That just below this exterior, in the soul of his brand new wife, lives just a little girl.

Inexperienced in life.

Inexperienced in love.

Inexperienced in loving.

 

Really, just a little girl.

 

                      

 

 

Who's still afraid to be home all alone.

Who has no idea how long to boil potatoes.

Who, no matter how many romance novels were crammed in before her wedding night,

was not ready.

Who feels utterly consumed with fear when forced to coincide within his professional world,

when directed to stand by his side, as the wife of this nearly perfect man.

 

How can he not know?

 

And why can't he see my absolute terror of disappointing him?

When he will be forced to use these beautiful and gentle hands against me.....

 

The ones that have held and loved me,

that comfort and guide me, and have

 lifted me over obstacles.

 

 

These are the hands

that will hold me to punish me

That he may re-direct me.

 

Hands that will cause me to fear,

to plead, to weep,

when I have run astray.

 

For he refuses to allow me to stay where I feel comfortable,

where I have run wild-

Out of the confines of my established walls,

 beyond the safety of common sense,

to search for playgrounds unseen.

 

 

 

 

But he will hold me

In the sanctuary of his arms.

And he will allow himself to correct,

in order to save.

 

 

 

 

And because it really does matter: