He proposed to me with tears in his eyes. He loves me.
He said, “I do,” that humid July night. He loves me.
A few months later, I found a link on our computer. He loves me not.
A few hours later, he sobbed at my feet and apologized. He loves me.
A few hours later, he lied and told me that was the only time her ever did it. He loves me not.
A few days later, he told me everything and spent weeks doing everything he could to show me that he was changing. He loves me.
I had to pry for the truth and he told me he still struggled with thinking sexual things of women at work. He loves me not.
He called me every time he felt tempted at work (or as soon as he could), no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel. He loves me.
He got angry when I questioned him and told him I was still hurting. He loves me not.
It’s a never-ending game. He loves me, he loves me not. I played it so many times with George. Even sang this song to myself at night. After awhile, though, the song needed to end. I was driving George crazy, and myself. Keeping tabs on everything he did (and didn’t do). Completely consumed with his actions, that was me. So much for keeping no record of wrongs. Not only did I keep them, but I replayed them in my head daily and reminded George of them daily as well.
He didn’t do everything right, but the man sought change like no other man I’ve known. He wanted it, and he wanted it BAD. He was willing to do whatever it took, even beyond whatever it took, but it didn’t matter to me. He did everything I asked, and still, I badgered him with my disappointment.
I couldn’t move on. I was stuck on that last flower petal that said “he loves me not” and I was afraid to pluck it, afraid of what would happen if there were no more petals to pluck. So I stayed there and dwelt on “he loves me not” so much that I made him wonder if he really did love me or not.
George had his moments. He wasn’t perfect. He’d get upset or mad. He’d justify himself and his own “rights.” But for the most part, he was gentle, kind, and whenever I got angry he’d end up in tears. For me. For us. Not for his own pain. A lot of men we talk to are stuck in justifying themselves. They don’t want to live in a “prison.” They don’t want to stop doing the things they enjoy, even if it makes their wives uncomfortable. They are still stuck on enjoying life so much that they don’t realize their wives are holding back tears every time they go out the door. George never did that to me.
And here’s the sad thing … it didn’t make a difference.
See, your husband could be doing everything wrong, and mine did so, so many things right. But our hearts are still the same. Messed up, bruised, shattered. We are lost. We are hopeless. We are stuck in distrust and unfamiliar grounds. We have built up walls and we want our husband’s to fight for us and break down the walls, but at the same time … we fear him. We are women. We either give you all of us, or none of us. We don’t know how to do anything else. When we give our hearts to a man, he will see us in our most vulnerable state. More than anyone else on earth ever will. When he crushes us, we take everything away and make him fight like there’s no tomorrow to get us back.
And quite honestly, after someone is unfaithful, they better fight like there’s no tomorrow to get their spouse back! But sometimes he doesn’t. And in my case, he did, but I was stuck behind my huge wall. No matter how many times George whacked at those bricks, I put another one up in its place. He was getting nowhere.
Until I caved.
What did it take for me to finally allow the bricks to fall down?
1.) I could no longer deny the fact that he had changed. Truly changed.
2.) He fought and fought and fought, and I started to feel sorry for him, because he was getting nowhere.
3.) I realized that I had a lot of issues, and no matter how much I wanted to believe it, I wasn’t the only victim.
4.) I remembered our wedding vows, and realized that I wasn’t living up to them.
5.) I thought of God’s love for me, no matter how many times I chose to be entertained by a movie with His name in vain or thought of my own desires above His, He loved me just the same.
6.) I remembered a very important key. I loved George. I loved him. I married him. I loved him, and I still loved him even after all the pain. Love.
Was I really willing to let go of my love for him because he made a mistake? Was I willing to say that I am better than God? That I deserve love and if someone doesn’t love me “right” in return, that I can build up a wall and never let them in my heart again? Was I willing to tell Jesus that it’s too hard to be like Him, that I’d rather have a crown of jewels when He had a crown of thorns?
When I realized that I wasn’t willing to do any of those things … my heart softened. The bricks crumbled to the ground. And my marriage found a new foundation and has been building and building ever since. Our marriage is beautiful now. He is sitting three feet from me as I type this, and I can’t wait to stop typing so I can touch his hand, kiss his cheek, look into his green eyes and tell him that he is the best thing on earth that has ever happened to me.
And the most beautiful part about it … I know that he feels the same, but I no longer think about that, I’m too consumed with looking at him to even think about what I look like to him.
The real question isn’t — He loves me, He loves me not.
It’s — Do you love him, or do you love him not?
I love my husband. So much. Do you still love yours?
