Is it too much to ask to be loved?  To have one person who looks for your face every morning, and notices the ebb and flow of your moods? God loves each of us, and yet that devotion can present itself as intensely as the Mohave sun. While I am grateful, when I remember to be, for the deep warmth of a June afternoon, I do not feel singled out. Everyone on my street has as much.

But the strategy behind marriage is personal. My husband puts my needs above those of a thousand perfectly lovely women who live within fifty miles. My commission is to love him.

Sometimes I need it to be that simple. If I am chatting at a party, and there is a funny story that would get a laugh at his expense, I come back to center. 

Love John.

If  he makes a mistake and the urge to point it out surges up I remember.

Love John.

If the attention I get from another man is flattering, I repeat it.

Love John.

The transformation does not happen all at once. It is not earned by a single effort. But perhaps in the time it takes for a a white dress to yellow, or go out of style I can learn what it means to offer love.