August 7, 2014 13 Comments
Shel Silversteen penned a poem called “Hug-O-War.” You’d probably remember it if I started it off for you:
I’d rather play hug-o-war.
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
and rolls on the rug…
I don’t do hugs. They’re just not my thing.
But I, Andrew, do not hug. I’ll shake your hand, or even better, I’ll high-five or fist-bump you. (“Knucks!”) But the best of all is a head nod. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Not much. See ya.”
But there’s a problem with all of this. I don’t like hugs, but
And my spouse is a woman.
And women hug.
My wife likes hugs.
But we didn’t. I shook her hand. No joke.
But here’s the thing. Sarabeth knows me and my needs. She knows that I need affirmation and compliments. And she doesn’t give out compliments freely. But she gives them generously to me because she knows I need them.
So it’s only fair that I hug her more than once a week.
Because I love her.
What does your spouse love? What do they need every day?
My wife needs hugs.