Rest. . .
I become the spoon and he the dish
and I lay down my head in deep need of some rest.
The days they all blur in the chaos of life
and I forget to count my blessings instead of the trials and the strife.
It's this laying down of my burdens as I lay down my head
then counting the gifts together as we lay on the bed
And curling up beside the love of my life
and telling him how thankful I am to be his wife.
Oh there are days I am wicked - how I wish I were not.
I yell or I scream and sometimes put him on the spot.
Then the guilt and the condemning voices I hear,
scream like a siren in both of my ears.
But here in the dark curled into his arm,
I remember our vows and I take no alarm.
Then he says them these words that silence the beast-
There is no condemnation - not even the least.
So, I snuggle in closer, the spoon I will be,
but in this marriage bed is not 2, but counting Jesus - there is three.