Our windows are sprinkled with paper snowflakes. John creates them, and they are exquisite. Some are patterned after photographs of genuine snowflakes, others are circles or intertwined stars. Many have names hidden within the design, or angels. One of my favorites was of twelve overlapping pairs of scissors. I marvel that he can see the finished whole in his imagination, which tells his fingers where to cut. I hold my breath to watch him snipping, as the beauty slides down his arms and emerges in paper. Scraps settle at his feet, the chips and chops that fall away. The process takes patience, but when he opens it up I let out a little gasp. 

 

When I forget to stand back from my life, and focus too closely on a single slice, it can feel uninteresting. One conversation, unresolved. One meal, kinda bland. But across the years it makes a pattern of many, spoken and swallowed in a revolving circle. Last night was a macaroni and broccoli night. It filled our bellies, and some kids asked for seconds. But it was also part of a chain of dinners, stretching over nine childhoods of ordinary suppers and chatter about the day.

 

God is crafting my marriage in a substance more permanent than a sheet of 8 1/2 by 11. He sees a whole that is not yet revealed to my nearsighted vision. God knows which parts of me to carve away, and which to keep intact.

My prayer is that when the broken bits of me fall away, and knowing hands unfold me, there will remain a wife whose beauty will not melt away.