I love my husband. When one of us leaves the house for the day, I typically kiss him goodbye. Today is a day where I kicked myself for just kissing him. Why? Because it’s not enough.
My husband is a black man living in America. So when he goes out into the world everyday he not only needs my kiss, but he needs my well wishes, my prayers, my reminder to be careful, my constant intercession in his absence, and my promise of sanctuary upon his return. His dreams need my encouragement. His hits need my cheering and his misses need my comfort. He needs to know that he matters. Not just to me but he matters, period. We live in a country that strips men like him of dignity, robs him of his tomorrow, rapes him of his manhood, then labels him a thug. There are people disguised as protectors who will murder him then tell how based on his past, he asked for it. He is the father of my child and we need him for our future. So I, as his wife have to help him breathe, support his movement, refuel his hunger to live.
No, I can’t just kiss him goodbye. The love in me hopes at every seat’s edge that he’ll return to me upright and with breath in his lungs. The mother in me is praying my daughter’s father will be in condition to hug her, read to her, lift her over his shoulders, and hold her hand. I have to speak life over his being and as his woman, I have to now keep watch over our home’s covering.
He is not just my husband but a representative of my race so it is not just him I need to speak life into. It is not just him I need to support, to cheer on, to invest in, to uplift, to pray for. But as a mother with no natural son and looking for where I can be the most effective, he is where I start.
We must empower each other to empower each other.
He is my husband. He is her father. And his life matters.