I am sitting in my car right now with 2 baby girls sleeping like narcoleptic lambs in the backseat–my own and a friend’s.
I dare not move.
Sure, I could take their carseats inside the house, but why risk it? The car is quiet and cozy and incredibly womb-like, so I say let the babies sleep.
In the meantime, I’ll sit here, craving coffee and missing my husband, who, for the past month (2 months, 3 months, year and a half, whatever) has been so incredibly busy and stressed; either traveling for his job, or working on the house. We’ve been crankily sprinting in opposite directions and I’ve just now stopped and turned to look back: the distance between us is yoga-balls huge, and it sucks.
It’s just like this big, ginormous, sucking.
I’m sure part of this is at least a little natural: There will always be jobs to give him heart attacks. Babies, by design, are little bitty adorable industrial-strength, attention-demanding needing machines. Kids’ activities will inevitably leave us both hairless by the end of the year. But I. Can’t. Handle. Any of it, without my best friend.
My bible study this past week has ever-so-fittingly been about being your husband’s encourager and confidante and friend. I admit: I’ve been slacking. I can think of ten thousand reasons to explain and justify this slackage, but I can think of one good reason to shut up and just be that awesome wife: God requires it of me.
Plus I would like not to get divorced ever because I’ve had a glimpse of the single mom life through all of Caleb’s abscences (and through that time, you know, that I was an actual single mom) and it is harsh.
Submission is a word used again and again in regards to the relationship I’m to have with my husband, but not in the “yes, Master” kind of way–he loves me like Christ loves the church. And as far as I know, Christ pretty hardcore loves the church, so much so that He willingly gave His life for the church. Still, submission to anyone in general is a tough pill to swallow (since I wonder if maybe sometimes I have a slight tendency to be a little stubborn) but swallow I must.
It’s my job, even when I feel tired/frustrated/rushed/upset/lonely/wronged/attacked/mizunderstood.
Starting pronto, in addition to being thankful to God for His grace and stuff, I’m going to be a nice wife. A supportive wife. A wife who makes her husband a priority. The kind of wife that God will be all like “THAT’S what I’m talking about!” And in the process, my husband will be blessed.
I’m going to swallow my pride, say I’m sorry, stop pointing fingers, the blame is on me.
I may or may not be sitting in my car, tears glistening, singing Boyz II Men at the top of my lungs in my J-Law voice. Wanye Morris would be horrified. And so would Caleb. But if you’re still reading and you want better marital advice, get you some Proverbs 31: 10-12 action:
A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.