As he innocently pours milk on his cereal and anticipates a nice breakfast with his wife on the screened porch this beautiful morning, I'm sure he doesn't suspect the trap. I've been pouring over curriculum choices for an hour, ready to present my $800 idea and not really interested in his opinion, only his support. (wince)
He takes the bait. Gives his alternate opinion. Puts me on the defensive. Gives me a "fine, do what you want" and stalks off.
After 20 years as a Christian, 18 years as a loving wife, and 8 years as a devoted homeschool teacher, you'd think I'd have squelched this sin-habit of Just Tell Me What I Want To Hear. I scour marriage and homeschool life books, sincerely trying to internalize the sage advice of smart and savvy women who have mastered the art of submission in marriage.
Yet I hold this homeschooling endeavor tight to my chest with a Mother-Knows-Best attitude. Sure, I'll submit to his opinions on new computers and when the right time is to build a deck. But not this. It's my hill to live or die on. (deeper wince)
I slink off to the bedroom, stewing because he has questioned the validity of my idea. He sits alone on the porch with his cereal and private thoughts. I slide into the shower, feeling it coming, the gentle conviction that flows from a heart given over to a Spirit Who calls out sin. It's not guilt that washes over me.
It's love.
A Love that makes me want to love.
And here is what I know about the man I gave my heart to on a warm June day. He will come and find me. He will pull me to him and apologize for hurting my feelings. He will not leave for work without making things right. And here is what I know about myself. I will move into his arms and I will apologize, too, and confess I set him up to fail.
Yes, there it is, the knock on the bedroom door. He has come. My love.
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