All that has happened, they are your prayers that are answered!  How the answers come in ways we would not choose.  Surely, though, it was you who prayed I stop hurting you.  It was you that prayed I stop hurting others. It was you that prayed I cease damning myself!

You used your prayers for me.  You offered sacrifices for me.  My love, God has answered you, and shown truly that the rays of God are not the ways of man.  You have suffered greatly at my hand and for my soul.  In his answer to your prayers, God has given me the grace to suffer for yours.

Beloved, your prayers have saved me!  Let ours together now save us.  Oh, dear one, my wife, come home that we may build it up again with love, laughter, tears, and faith.

It is time.  It is time today.  Come home, my love.  Come home.


You could just come home from work one night.  We could start dealing with the heavy stuff, and the counseling in a couple of weeks.  At home, we could just work on being good at being at home.  We could just do it out of order.  You could just text “hey I’ll be home around 7 for dinner.  See you tonight.” And we could just start there.

I wouldn’t try to ignore the past; we would deal with it.  I wouldn’t let us not deal with it.  But we don’t have to do it all at once.  We could start by just being nice to each other.  Just being friendly.  It wouldn’t be fake; it would just be only one part of what we need to do.  Who says what order we have to do it in?

You could just come home.  Really.  Truly.  Any day.  Any time.  We’d make work, because that’s the right thing to do.  You could just come home.

This is the man I want to be

I’m watching a movie, and a scene with an ordinary sort of poignancy made my tear up.  And I didn’t care.  I wasn’t ashamed.  It made me cry a little, so I cried a little.  I wish I hadn’t been alone, because I wish I’d had someone (I wish I’d had my wife) to share the sappy moment with.  To be teary with.  To share the joyous realization (again) that my emotions work now, and that I’m entirely happy with having them.  I’m still strong.  I’m still masculine.  I can still control my feelings when it’s necessary or appropriate.  The fact that a beautiful moment between a mother and her children touched my heart, the fact that I care about families, and the fact that I’m proud of it make me more of a man.

This is the man I want to be.