During marriage counseling, the pastor asked us to write down some descriptions of our significant others that transcended just declarations of physical attraction.
Every time I wrote something, it always came back to something she did, or how she looked, or her smile, or her fingers and hair. I was soundly dismissed as a non-listener and bad test-taker.
Here’s the problem: All of that is very much connected for me. I wouldn’t love my wife the way I do if she was a dude, or a giant Amazonian, or a hobbit. I wouldn’t feel the way I feel every time I look at her if her hair was always neat and orderly, or her fingers were big ol’ Megan Fox-sized toe-thumbs. And of course I love her personality, and her joy, and the way she thinks and speaks and fiercely loves the people in her life. But my wife is not my wife without all of those aspects put together.
I told her once that the only way I can describe her is like a hurricane. She doesn’t like that, because she thinks hurricans are scary. They are. And so is she. But they are both also wild, and untamable. They are fast, and break on you with power and intensity. They can ruin you, or make you laugh as you run through her in the rain and the flood. She crashes above you and demands your attention. She flies over you in waves, from the ocean to the mountains. And she is peaceful, calm, tranquil, and rests with me.
Hannah, Hannah, Hurricane.
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