The Greatest of These (Sequel to Kansas Summer) -- Faith

December 25, 2003

--Jenna

                I wake to the sound of Colin rolling out of bed at six in the morning.  He sits on the edge of the bed, stretches, and then walks towards his dresser.

                “Love?” I call, half whimpering, half complaining, “Please stay another half hour?”  I give him puppy dog eyes, but he just grins and shakes his head.

                “Sorry, Jen.  The cows get mighty temperamental if they aren’t milked early in the morning you know.  I will be back in an hour, just like always.  If you want,” he adds, whispering, “you can warm up some bath water.”

                I wish I could spend a few more minutes with Colin in bed, but I don’t intend to pass on his suggestion.  Sliding the covers over my head, I try to catch a few more winks.  I hear Colin leave the house, and a new thought enters my mind: how would I give Colin his best Christmas present?  I want it to be special, yet not flashy, because that’s just not Colin’s thing.  He’s a very practical man, and doesn’t have a lot of patience for practical jokes.  I shiver with delight, imagining the surprise and joy he will have when he opens it.  Opens it?  Isn’t that a little too predictable?  No, this is one gift I don’t want him to open with the rest of them.  But when?

                I reach into my nightstand and pull out the gift, hoping that staring at it will give me inspiration.  Make love and them give it to him afterwards?  That too seems too predictable.  It would have to be a very special night of love; I’d have to try something new.  My mind races with possible ideas, many of them sick, twisted perversions of sex from my prostitution days.  I shudder them away; our marriage bed was not one of the places I wanted to my history to resurface, but it happened just the same.  But we are different: I am a wife, not a prostitute, and Colin seeks after me with Godly passion, not carnal release fueled by lust. 

                I regret even entering this world of thought, for a tsunami of insecurity floods me.  I am suddenly questioning my ability to satisfy him.  Does he think I treat him like one of my clients?  Am I still beautiful to him even after my past?  Does he think that he doesn’t satisfy me?  I pray for God to take these feelings away from me.  Although I know God forgives me, I can’t help feeling that I’m still not good enough for Him or my husband.  What should I do?

                I try to not think about the things that haunt me as I sit at the breakfast table with Colin and listen to him read the Christmas story.  It made me nostalgic for the simple days when we were still dating: every Christmas, my parents would invite Colin and his dad to have breakfast, and open gifts together.  However, this Christmas, it is just us, but Colin still mandates keeping the tradition alive. 

                As he reads from Luke, the words speak to me and seem to be an answer from God about my insecurity.  “Do not be afraid to take to you Mary your wife”, the angel had said.  I ponder this passage.  Joseph, being a righteous man, was told by God to take Mary as his wife, even though she had child.  I can only imagine the shame and ridicule that he must have faced, especially from his family and friends!  Joseph obeyed God and loved Mary, even in her social disgrace, but he still had to be rebuked by God!  Joseph, the father of Jesus, the man chosen by God to bring up His son, was imperfect!  How much more could my husband love me after unconditionally sacrificing time, money, and love for me so that I could be who I am today?  As he reads about the angels and shepherds rejoicing over the birth of the Son of God, I can’t help but smile at my own shortcomings.  Colin and I had our faults and our doubts, but so did Joseph and Mary, yet God sanctified them, and blessed them, and trusted them.  This realization gives me new motivation and perspective.  As we pray, thanking God for the gift of his son, I squeeze his hand extra hard.  My other hand surreptitiously caresses my stomach.