I replied “Ya, sure,” and smugly rolled my eyes. My crosshairs
had been set on him all morning. These little suggestions weren’t helping and what
he did next really got my goat. He started cleaning.
When my man performs extra chores it can only mean… I haven’t done them. Stick to your territory bud.
Take the garbage out. Change a lightbulb. Do the dishes. But don’t wipe down
the refrigerator shelves. I know there’s goop there, I’ll get to it, you don’t
have to point out that it hasn’t been done. This is when the argument began.
Next he had the audacity to suggested, one too many times,
that I go out for a bit. Again, he’s allowed to suggest it once, but if said
over and over, I will get it. You don’t want me around.
Here, at the peak of the argument, I grabbed your baby
sister and left, slamming two doors on my way out. That is how your mama makes
a point, whipping the door behind her, leaving the other contender speechless.
Or at least out of ear shot.
I gunned it down the driveway contemplating where to buy a
peppermint mocha- the obvious solution.
Now here, sweetheart, is one of the drawbacks to loving
Jesus. Just as soon as you are feeling justified in your nasty actions, and
you’re ready to stew over it, you reluctantly get a taste of how He might be
viewing the situation. I roll my eyes
again, as I am reminded of what love is. As Pastor Joe says, love is doing
what’s best for the other person, despite the cost to you, even when they don’t
deserve it. It’s the undeserving love Christ has for us. We don’t deserve it
and yet He offers it freely. And that’s just chirpy- until I have to apply it
to my own life.
So with an abundance of reluctance and pride I order and
extra cappuccino at the drive through and zoom home to your father. He accepts
my token of forgiveness and our day is salvaged.
That evening I mumble an apology for being so mad at him.
“You were mad at me?” he asks.
No. Way.
“Yes I was mad. Madder’n a wet hen.”
“Oh,” he replies, clearly perplexed.
“Remember, I slammed the door,” I add with a raised eyebrow.
“I thought you were making sure it was shut.”
Way.
“The coffee,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief, “That’s
when it ended, that’s when I said I was sorry.”
Or did I actually say the words? I don’t remember now. It
all seems suddenly silly. There was a fight, wasn’t there? I was noble in my
offer of forgiveness, wasn’t I? What did you do again – clean the house? Ask me
to go shopping? Oh, man.
I once had to break up with a boy after returning from
spring vacation. Apparently, while I was out of state, we had started dating.
When I got back, a friend informed me of this and I had to do that horrendously
awkward phone-call break up thing with someone I didn’t know I was dating. This
spat with your dad made me feel the same way. Communication is everything.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a smile. “I’m not perfect.” The
tension in my shoulders releases as I finally breathe out. I know he’s not
perfect, but he’s darn near close.
All this to say two things. First, your daddy is an amazing
man. There are many things I am thankful for this season, but your dad…I don’t
deserve him. I am utterly to the bone convinced of this and there is only one
way I wound up with him. Prayer. I’d like to say I spent many-a-night as a
young single woman in prayer asking that God bring along just the right man.
Although I didn’t, someone else did. A couple of someones actually.
Grammy June and Grandpa Ron had been praying for me since I
was in diapers. They prayed for my parents too, that they would remain married,
so that I would have a good example of marriage by the time I met their son.
They didn’t know me. They didn’t know anything about my childhood, or
the burdens my parents would bear. Burdens that could have easily split them
apart. They didn’t know the details, but they prayed.
I’m so thankful for prayer and the power it’s had in my own
life. Now, you can bet I pray almost daily for your future husband (and for
your brother and sister’s spouses). I pray his mom and dad are patient with him,
yet consistent. I pray because their own marriage will have hard days. Mine has hard days and my man is only trying to help. I ask God to
give them the strength and wisdom to stay together, just so that their son
would see what marriage was created to be.
And then I ask, if it’s not too much trouble, that this boy
could be Trevor Schoolfield. Doesn’t hurt to ask.
