Connected

"Come lay down next to me," was the invitation as I set the fresh and full coffee mug on his bedside table this morning.

I slipped under the sheets next to him (well, as much as my seven months pregnant self can "slip" under anything) and wrapped my arm around him, my chest to his back. Eyes closed, I am taken back to many, many mornings in the first years of our marriage when we had nothing else to do other than lay next to each other in bed and talk, accompanied by the music of morning birds and illuminated by the gentle prodding of the rising sun.

In those days, with my chest to his back and my arm around him, I remember my heartbeat keeping time with his. Now a pregnant belly is sandwiched between our heartbeats, confirming rather than interrupting our connection.

It is not always like this. There are times when I feel I am standing on a beach, watching our intimacy recede further and further away, washed out to an unswimmable expanse by tides of distraction, exhaustion, and miscommunication.

I operate under an unshakable belief that life moves ever forward in cycles.

A couple of months before we were married, we went through a ropes course together. I was so scared. He, of course, was not. Vividly I remember being up - so far up! - above the ground, shaking and unsure. He held my safety line and called up to me with words of empowerment and courage. My Coach.

It isn't until we awaken to find ourselves in a season of stress that I realize how tightly I am gripping that safety line. Daunting circumstances and difficult days can be a breeding ground for distance, severing the cords of connection; but, oh, what sweet surrender in allowing myself to slow down and accept an invitation to come lay down next to him. My man.