A Minivan Kind of Love

I drive a 2005 minivan with peeling paint and only one working window.  It had power doors, but only one still opens and shuts when I push the button.  The other just makes loud clicking sounds.   Right now it has strong smelling coffee grounds on the floorboard because I hit a skunk last week, and coffee helps absorb the stink.  Stray goldfish rest in every nook and cranny of the interior.  Busted ketchup packets, cokes, vomit, and poopy diapers galore. . . this car has seen  and smelled it all.

And I still love my van.

Because it has heated leather seats.  It has a sunroof, a six disc dvd changer, a CD player AND a tape player (bring on the Edie Brickell tape I’ve had since junior high).  It is comfortable, and I know exactly how far I can drive after the gas light comes on.  Most importantly, my van is paid for.  It is all mine for all eternity or until it stops going, whichever comes first.

How can I love my van despite all of its shortcomings?  Because I know it.  I feel comfortable with my paid for, far from perfect, all-mine mini-van.  And, I love my van because I choose to focus on what is awesome about it instead of what is way not awesome.

So, if I can overlook the flaws of my minivan, shouldn’t I be able to do the same for my husband?

Sure, everyone ages.  Everyone changes.  Everyone goes through some phases that are better than others.  Some habits will never stop being annoying.  But, what about all the stuff about my husband that WORKS?  The stuff that still makes me smile?  The stuff that makes me respect him and cheer for him and adore him?  What if I just chose to look at those things and ignore the stuff that would hurt his resale value?

And, I can’t forget that he’s got a few (okay, a lot) of not-so-awesome things about me to overlook, too.

We belong to each other, signed on the dotted line.  I pray we can love each other like a mama loves her decked out minivan.  Only more, because we are people and a minivan is a metal object without feelings.

It’s the little lessons that mean the most.  See, now my minivan is teaching me lessons.  It is truly incredible.

Love your husband well today.  Forget about the broken romance button or the fact that the listening light doesn’t come on half the time.  He is yours.  Show him that you see the good.

You have lots more miles to travel together.  May as well travel them as friends.