Somebodys been sleeping in my bed...

I found this a few weeks ago I wrote it in like 2000 – and thought – wow – it still rings true- SO I am going to edit it to fit my new life and post for you….

Voila!

My Bed

Of all the spaces I call my own, all the material objects I have attempted to and successfully acquired, non hold the same special place in my heart that my bed does. I have a very, very special relationship with my bed. Granted I love my kitchen and all its little gadgets – for they help me create such magic. There is the chase in my living room with I adore, it holds me quietly – I liked to sit there and nurse Cammy.  Our bedroom could be cozy but my bed is sacred.
It is my separate universe, my own private earth. The only place where I can just be, a woman – made from man, nothing more, nothing less and now that I am a piece of a couple it is the space where he is just a man. Made in the image of God, and I can worship God in loving him and nothing else exists beyond the boundaries made by our sheets. Sorry got a little side tracked – I was talking about my bed.
To the average person it doesn’t look any different than your average ordinary bed. Standard Queen size set up – basic mattress and box spring – that needs to be replaced. I used to dress it in a mink bedspread, and caramel colored satin sheets, standard ghetto baby powder dusted everywhere and jasmine oil layered between the sheets, but that couple thing I mentioned never understood my bedding needs and wants, so now it is simply high count solid color cotton sheets, and a purple comforter.  
And I miss that, I miss dressing my bed – the way most women dress them selves.  My bed was to me like dressing my self, I always feel my most beautiful in bed, my most comfortable. I could sleep naked because my dressing was wrapped around me. It is the place where I can be completely honest, if I am tired, then I am tired. If I snore then my bed knows it and cradles me anyway. In my bed I never have to be the strong one, honestly it is where I run to when I need to hide for a minute, and where my tears are welcome. The time I spend in bed is the most vulnerable time of my day. I go there defenseless, my mind is not on guard, I’m not thinking or planning, or scheduling. When  raise that sheet and slide in I leave everything else outside, and find my peace, and my dreams used to come from that place. Now I don’t dream nearly as often, or I don’t remember them the way I used to.
Now my bed wasn’t always so special to me. In my early youth my bed was a cage, a prison I was banished to when bed time arrived or adults tired of my cuteness. I can recall my bed magically becoming a plaything until parenthood deemed game over and it was back to Strawberry Shortcake covered prison bars. It wasn’t until my teen years, when I was given choices where my room and bed were concerned that I began to covet that time. It doesn’t help that I am a night owl, and SO not a morning person.
But in marriage I find that my husband doesn’t have the same affinity for our bed that I do. I am dying to chuck the queen and switch up to this pillow top King size wonder that will fit when we switch to our new home. Its killing me not to paint our marriage bed in beautiful colors and fabrics and textures, but there is always something more important, more pressing so it ahs been sacrificed repeatedly and my heart hurts for it.
But eventually I will find my way back to keeping our bed exactly the way I need to. Eventually.