When Did We Stop Reaching for Each Other?

The dog. I blame the dog.

I rolled over in bed at some wee hour of the morning and, with eyes still closed, reached for my husband. I just wanted to place my hand on his back, to remember he’s there, a small gesture of intimacy and belonging.

But what I got instead was a fistful of fur.

Our doodle likes to sleep at the head of our bed, on the pillows, directly between my husband and me. Don’t judge - I know, I know. We made the mistake when he was a puppy of letting him sleep there because, out of desperation for a good night’s rest, it was the only way we could convince him not to whine all night.

But five-pound puppies grow into 30-pound fuzzy monsters. 

And now I can’t reach my husband in the middle of the night.

It’s little things like this that can – literally or figuratively – cause a gap in our relationships. For you maybe it’s not a snoring dog but something else. Different schedules and routines, so one of you goes to bed late and the other rises early and you only have a few hours together in the same place on any given night. Or maybe it’s not physical proximity but social or emotional distance that builds when we focus more on daily tasks of survival at work or raising kids, independent of each other, than we do on moving toward one another in heart and deed.

Chad and I have loved each other for more than 25 years. Love sustains us, commitment is our foundation, but honestly it’s way too easy to neglect the house we built on top of that foundation. Rooms get dusty, windows could use some washing or replacing. Until it feels like the only thing to do is burn it down and start all over. 

We’re not there yet. But maybe you are? Maybe you have been, and you’re swimming in ashes.

Good news. God is in the business of raising beauty from ashes.

“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.” (Isaiah 61:1-3)

The same God who pulled Israel from devastation to restoration is working in our lives and in our relationships. Our part is to stop clutching what's burned and hand it to Him, then start tending to the small work He puts in front of us. He'll help us notice the gaps before they become chasms. 

Move the dog. Adjust schedules. Put down the phone during dinner, look each other in the eyes, and truly listen to the answer when we ask, "How was your day?"

If you're in a season like I am of the impending empty nest, then you know soon it'll be just you and the man (and the dog). Maybe you're already there. I don't want to be the kind of couple that stares at each other like we've never met before and says, "What now?" 

Let's create the marriage we hope for by doing the quiet, unsexy work of choosing each other again—one decision, one gesture, one pillow adjustment at a time.

Because someday when I roll over in the dark and reach for my husband, I want to find him. Not because the dog is gone, but because we never stopped moving toward each other.