After 24 years of marriage, there are things she doesn't know.
She stands there asking me "Which earrings?" or "Which shoes?" as if I know. I've told her before, but she is constantly hopeful that I've suddenly come into some sort of fashion sense. I haven't. She doesn't seem to know.
She asks, apparently unaware that I don't know hoops from dangly things or what color shoes go with what color clothes or what "appropriate dress" means. "It's after Labor Day" never meant anything to me. She doesn't know.
She stands there waiting, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that I'm not looking at earrings or shoes. I can barely see them at all. It's those eyes, that smile, the way her hair plays across her forehead. I can't see a thing beyond the woman's face that I love. Earrings? What are they? But she doesn't give any indication of knowing this.
I tell her she looks great with either ... both ... all or none of them. Shoes, earrings, hair style, whatever. Because hers isn't merely exterior beauty. I see a quiet and gentle spirit, an inner beauty, both delicate and strong, tender and courageous. (After all, she has been married to me for 24 years -- that requires great courage and strength.) King Lemuel wrote, "An excellent wife, who can find? For her worth is far above jewels." (Prov 31:10) Well, I can. I have. A real beauty who is graced externally with beauty as well ... and just the right earrings and shoes, too. I don't think she knows that, either, although I often tell her.
Just a few things she doesn't know.
I love my wife ... dearly ... after 24 years of marriage and counting. She knows that, but sometimes I wonder. That's okay. I have time to continue to tell her and show her. And I intend to.