Oh Imperfect Love

“Oh Perfect Love” used to be sung at almost every Mennonite wedding. It’s about God’s love but we thought it applied to us.

Recently I came across a book titled Wabi Sabi Love: The Ancient Art of Finding Perfect Love in Imperfect Relationships.

“The truth is you’re not perfect, and neither is your partner. But you can be perfectly imperfect together. In Wabi Sabi Love, international bestselling author and relationship expert Arielle Ford applies the wisdom of Wabi Sabi—the ancient Japanese idea of illuminating the beauty in imperfection—to love relationships.”

(I have a quibble with using the concept of wabi/sabi this way because I know something about the Japanese aesthetic but I will set that aside for now.)

I thought, this is a book I do not need to read because I am writing it in my life every day. It has taken me some time to get to this point in a relationship that is now, goodness, nearly 44 years old and it has been an up and down path. But Valentine season is a good time to make a special effort and take stock.

The book came to mind when I thought about what I had done to mark the day itself: I had made reservations. In past years I would have waited in vain for Vic to do this. I know he’s been wanting to take me to a certain popular restaurant but he never thinks about such things far enough in advance to actually get a spot. So I did it for him, my Valentine’s treat. I gave him the gift of my foresight.

As it turns out even I am too late, 5 days in advance, to get us a table on the day itself, so I settle for Valentine’s Eve.

While he is still away in Chicago working, I give myself the gift of a clean house. I know this gift will not last when he returns. The dining room table will be a fresh canvas on which to spread his papers, the couch will receive another dusting of peanut crumbs on the first evening of his return. But these crumbs will be lovingly laid down as we watch a movie together. I gather the remotes and headphones in the basket in anticipation.

I empty the dishwasher and put everything away where it belongs. Everything. I clear the countertops of everything that has a place elsewhere. Cleaning the kitchen is his job but he enjoys stopping before it is entirely finished, so things collect. This plastic tub, that empty olive oil bottle, a few dirty dishes that are stacked at the end of the island countertop that he doesn’t see because it is too far away from the dishwasher.

As I clean out the drain traps, I remember how much he hates to do this. So do I. Every time I clean the drain traps it is a test of my love. Do I love him enough to do this distasteful task and refrain from scolding him when he is here? But he is not here when I do this and I miss him.

I have a whole evening to enjoy the clean house by myself before he gets home. It is a small compensation for being alone.

He is here today. I put my hearing aids in to hear his silence. I listen for the clicks of his keyboard in the next room. I remember hating the amount of time he spends with his computer. I am happy now that he is spending that time in my presence as well as the computer’s. We are his beloveds, the computer and I, our family, the cat. He is a man of strong feeling and few words.

I have the words but they don’t carry the feeling, not even close.