Man of my dreams

Day 18. I dreamt about my husband today during a rare hour-long afternoon nap. I’m not sure the last time that happened — the dreaming of him, that is, not the napping. Sometimes when I dream about him, it’s of something bad happening to him. Today wasn’t like that. It was just a being together kind of dream.

Although I literally dreamt of him today, he also is figuratively the man of my dreams. Indulge me while I recollect. We have an anniversary coming up, and I like to remember how our relationship began, how I felt when he proposed, what it was like to marry him. A recent look at our wedding pictures helped the reminiscing process.

Phil and I were friends before we were a couple. The first time we were in a group together, he called me by name. I consider this the beginning of our story because it touched me. There’s something about hearing your name, at least there is for me. It’s a personal address. I was new to the group at the time and it made me feel acknowledged. When I tell him this, he just shrugs. He didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it’s forever burned in my mind.

We became friends through church activities and other social events. More and more I was drawn to him. Eventually our friendship grew to the point where I considered him to be one of my best friends and when he wasn’t around, something felt off or missing. He brought a certain energy to our group of friends, and he lit up my world. I guess I could say I was pining for him at this time.

We grew closer and closer as friends until finally, the day came when he put his arm around me while we watched “The Princess Bride,” already my favorite movie, now with added significance. I was giddy with joy but also fearful that maybe he made a mistake and the next day he was going to tell me he was sorry for leading me on. I didn’t sleep much that night, and when he said the next morning that we needed to talk, the fear and joy continued to mingle. When he clarified that he wanted to date me, my joy was more than I could contain, and he held my hand as we walked down the hill at Rock River Bible Camp.

For both of us, there was not much question that our relationship would end in marriage. With a friendship foundation firmly supporting us, and a love for the Lord binding us, we could see no other outcome. A year later, also at RRBC, he proposed, and I still smile thinking of how nervous he was, how he enlisted help to orchestrate a game that ended in a proposal, how I could hardly believe this was happening. I remember my friend Nikki commenting that I kept looking at my left hand, admiring the ring I had picked out but didn’t know he had bought.

Two years later, we were married. Looking at the pictures, I remember the joy. Everything wasn’t perfect that day, but it was the perfect day, if that makes sense. Although it was a jam-packed, emotional, somewhat overwhelming day, all I cared about was that at the end of the day, I would be Phil’s wife.

Almost three years have passed, hardly enough time for us to be tired of each other yet, but some marriages these days don’t last even that long. Mostly today I just miss his physical presence. We’ve had some great phone conversations, which hasn’t happened much, if at all, since he left the Army. And we’ve seen each other on Skype calls. But none of that is the same as being in the same room, sleeping in the same bed, riding in the same car.

Our separation time is ending soon, and I can hardly believe how fast it went. I still have much to learn about what it takes to make a relationship work and survive in less-than-ideal conditions, but with only a few days to go until I see my husband again, I’m grateful for the opportunity to re-appreciate him.

I can’t imagine being married to anyone else. He truly is a gift from God.