Letters of Grace (The Montgomery Brothers #1)

by T. Bell

He told you that if you promised to protect my heart, he didn’t see any reason you couldn’t marry me since you were out your favorite rock and all. That memory makes me smile, but it also makes me sad. We haven’t done a good job of protecting each other’s hearts.

You were already waiting for me there, a big grin on your face. It lifted my spirits a little, but you noticed my sadness. You used to always notice my sadness. When did that change? When did you stop seeing me?

I’m afraid that we are going to be her definition of love.

He looks so much like my husband, but I haven’t seen the man I married in a long time.

Another step towards the door; maybe if my footsteps are slow, he’ll realize how broken we’ve both become, but step after step, he lets me walk away.

My fingers glide over the picture frame softly. We were two young kids who had no idea that hearts could break.

Food and naps cure anything—at least according to my mother. And—maybe she’s right about it for some things, but I am exhausted in every part of my body. It’s not the kind of tiredness that sleep can fix. I’m so tired that breathing is a chore.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like God’s been close enough to hear my brokenness.” She pats my hand, gets up, and then pauses in the doorway. “Who moved then?”

I didn’t tell Emryn what’s been happening at work because I didn’t want to tell her I failed, but is that any excuse for her walking out? Six months of life being hard, and she can’t handle that?

The day she got her hair cut, I was sitting in my office when she came home. She stood in the doorway and tapped her fingers against the frame. I looked up, and a light smile brushed her lips. My breath caught in my chest at that smile. I wanted to tell her she was more beautiful now than she was the day I married her. I wanted to tell her that I love that our daughter has her strawberry blonde hair and my blue eyes—a perfect mixture of both of us. I wanted to tell her everything, but then I got a call from work, and I had to take it. Not that it’s any excuse.

He should have punched me. That would be ten times easier than standing here letting down another important person in my life.

I’ll leave you with this. You have a little girl who will grow and have you for her definition of love and marriage. You need to think carefully about what you want that definition to be because she is likely to replicate her choice of a spouse through you.

Will my wife notice my absence? Will she sleep on the couch like I plan to do because I don’t want to sleep alone in our bed?

Claws dig in my chest as I fight against the urge to say something—anything—because I can’t handle not being in control.

I hated feeling out of control. I didn’t want anyone else’s help. I could fix myself.

I could have asked Emryn’s family for help. Jonathan’s been running a business for years, but I couldn’t ask. I built the business on my own and wanted to save it on my own. That’s part of the reason I didn’t tell Emryn about it. She would have insisted I ask her dad for help if I had told her.

You both listen to respond rather than hear.

am tired of feeling like I can never live up to this perfect picture you’ve created in your head.

One minute, I was convincing myself we were okay, and then the lights were out, and you were gone. Now I’m angry over a situation where I’m unsure who is more to blame.

Any semblance of control I might have had shatters at her last words. Either choice I make, staying or leaving, I am creating a picture of a broken love for her.

When she reaches him, she flings herself into his arms with no question as to whether he will catch her. I wish I knew he would catch me too.

I’m terrified that I won’t be able to control the outcome.

“Dear Lord, you know the hurt here. You are the maker of the universe, and you alone are in control.”

There’s desperation inside me that yearns for God to take control of the things slipping from my grasp, but how can I ask him to fix the things I’ve had a hand in breaking?

He always reminded me that God lends us the things in our lives, and it’s our responsibility to care for them, especially the people.

Now—as he sits praying for healing over the things I have broken, I t...

I whisper my own prayer, “I’m sorry I didn’t take care of the things ...

again. I know these actions weren’t malicious, but they also weren’t attentive.

I groan at the ache in my body standing up. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man being bested by a three-year-old.

Her question catches me off guard. I’m not prepared for an inquisition from a three year old, but it also causes me to pause.

Selfishly, I want a moment to look at my wife without feeling her disappointment in me.

Maybe I am not the only one that felt like a window in this relationship. Did I ever listen to him, or was I always too busy being a mom to be a wife?

Some of that is my fault. I placed my value in the hands of a person who is only human himself, and I expected him to be Superman. I put unrealistic expectations on him and was mad when he couldn’t live up to them.

“From what I can remember, nothing big happened in their marriage that caused this rift. It was all the little things they forgot about when life got busy. They stopped growing together and started growing separately.”

Maybe it was okay for us to storm off and stay quiet as teenagers. We were still learning what it meant to be in a relationship, but we’re too old for that now. We have to learn to communicate, so he is the logical place to start.

It’s been a long time since I’ve noticed my husband like this, and while I should feel guilty about that, I can’t seem to take my eyes off him long enough to feel anything.

I’m out of sorts with him standing beside me shirtless, refusing to put the thing back on.

I should throw on my gloves, but I don’t want to. I want to feel something somewhere other than my chest.

I try, I really do, but when he’s around, I think of my mom. Then I think of every single time he let us both down. In the end, anger comes out instead of grace.

“I know about regret. There are many things I regret. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to be my age and look back at a life you didn’t live.” “I’m not you. I didn’t drink my life away. I take care of my family.” “From where I’m standing, I don’t see any family around for you to take care of.”

oof

The truth is, Emryn kept up with our house every day and never asked for praise. I feel guilty that the one time I do, I’m receiving the recognition she deserves.

I know we have a long way to go, and I’m trying—but I won’t ever regret kissing my wife.” I don’t let her respond. I close the distance and bring my lips down to hers, and for the first time in months, I can breathe.

“See,” I say, concentrating on wrapping his hand with gauze. “It’s okay to let someone take care of you once in a while.” When I’m done, I look up, and the words I’m about to say die on my lips. Sheer adoration shines on his face. His mouth is quirked up on one side—a silly smile on his lips. My heart races as contentment warms my veins.

His brows knit together. “What do you mean ‘find yourself’? I didn’t know you were missing.”

Tears prickle my eyes as I see myself through my husband’s eyes.

Sitting here, talking to them, it feels like they are accusing me of leaving because I didn’t know how to fight for my marriage, and part of me is angry because maybe they are right.

I didn’t see him as my husband anymore. I saw him as a mess I had to clean up. I resented him for making my life harder, even though I never asked him to make it easier.”

Even though I can’t bottle love up, there are still ways to protect it. Love has to be cultivated to grow. My parents are proof of that. It’s not a seed you can plant in the ground and hope it survives. It requires constant attention and care.

“Society tells us that we are failures because of our mistakes. It feels like we can never live up to God’s grace, but the word of God tells us that we are enough despite our mistakes. The Savior of the world sat down with this woman who, by society’s terms, was an outcast, but he offered her living water despite that. He offered her grace. You, my friend, are also worthy of grace.”

“But if you’re going on a date with Mommy, you’re ‘opposed to bring her flowers. It’s the rule.” I press my lips together, trying not to laugh because her whisper is as subtle as a bomb. She might as well have been yelling it to Jesus.