On the plane that day, I looked out and saw a meadow of fluffy, white clouds, leaned into you and said, “When Bunnies die, they become clouds. See?”
I was pleased with my little snippet of a children’s story. (You are always encouraging me to write another children’s book.)
I carried on, “And when Bears die, they… become sand.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I was anxious, startled at my own stupidity, and you sensed it too.
“Oh no, that’s terrible,” I said, “then Bunny and Bear will be apart when they die. So what happens when Bears die?” I asked.
I peered into your eyes. At times like these, I become a child with you. You allow me to- I am completely safe and unafraid and vulnerable when we are together. You have spun me round and round when I was sad, like a father does his child, and I was eager to know your answer that would make everything better.
Without a flinch, you replied, “When Bears die, they become mountains.”
“Mountains?” I asked.
“Bears become mountains. To reach up into the sky to touch Bunny.”
I gave you the biggest hug ever.
A few weeks ago, a friend told me, “You must be so happy.” It is a common thing to hear in early marriage.
But it doesn’t change the fact, that relationships, are a fragile thing.
“How has marriage been?”
“Full of ups and downs,” I said. “Lovely on the whole, but it would be unthinkable if my husband isn’t the man he is.”
I have been difficult and unpredictable at times, sometimes frustrated, sometimes frustrating you, too. Like the clouds in the sky, I am ever-changing, grey and heavy at a moment, then sunny and bright the next. And when my tears do fall, they fall on you, impacting you like rain does the landscape. But you always take me back, always reassure me you love me like you did the day before.
So I always take pictures, I am always recounting Things About Us, and thus, in a way, re-living those precious moments of surprise and starstruck wonder, so I don’t forget, how much you have sacrificed for and loved me, even in the times when I am least deserving of it.
I remember the flowers I came home to find on the table on your first anniversary in Singapore. (I was the one supposed to give you a celebration, only to find you had out-surprised me.)
There was the little Christmas surprise I found on the table the day after I was upset about some inconsequential thing which I felt offended by. (You always know how to make things better.)
There was you taking me to Lamma Island for a hike on our second day in Hong Kong, after I had tortured you with a sleepless, teary night. You should have been mad and frustrated with me. Instead, you woke up hugging me, saying that whatever had happened the night before was forgotten and wiped clean, and you were raring to give me a treat by taking me on a hike in the great outdoors, especially since I was affected and frustrated by the claustrophobic city. You were a real clown and great companion that day, constantly reminding me of the unconditional love that God has for us, which removes all condemnation.
Then of course, there was the day I was ready to be drenched from the dash home from the train station, but found a familiar face underneath a Rainbow umbrella waiting to shield me from the thunderstorm.
For all the things you do for me,
Thank you.
And I am comforted, that when I look into the sky and see the scattered clouds, ever-changing and ever-moving,
I can always know,
that there is a rock of a mountain somewhere,
always reaching for the clouds
relentlessly,
persistently.
Thank you for loving me.