(This one was written when I was pregnant with Joseph and we were making some medical decisions in regard to his heart and the predicted surgery he would need.)
Last night Brandon and I sat close on the couch, our warm bodies touching, but feeling so far away. That same old disagreement had stepped into the room like an unwanted visitor--squeezing between us onto the couch, settling down, kicking up muddy shoes, and begging for attention. I wonder how after 5 years of marriage that same fat disagreement still finds ways to squeeze back into our front door. Why do we have to do this again? And why right now? I felt too tired to wrestle with the impossible task of making a decision together when we had both already decided differently. With all our words spilled out uselessly in the air, we called it a night and brushed our teeth and crawled into bed and I hoped I could just sleep forever.
Sleep is mostly what I have wanted to do this year. Pregnancy and surgeries and two little boys and too much sickness can wear a body out just a bit. This year has left me exhausted and bare and no one knows it better than this man curled up next to me in bed. He is the one who married me when we wanted to share an adventure together and make a difference in the world and leave humanity a little better than it was when we found it. But it’s funny how when humanity comes to you in the form of a little human who demands you drop everything else to change diapers in the middle of the night, you realize just how much you always cared more about yourself than the rest of humanity. This year brought out so many of the ugly things in me—the selfishness, the anger, the bitterness—things I didn’t even know were there before. Brandon is the one who has seen the worst of it all. I ponder that and I know the right thing to do now—to love, to submit, to force my heart into agreement with this man who has loved me so well. But fear kept me silent a little longer. Suddenly I feel a strong arm wrapping around me and Brandon speaks, “I decided I want to agree with you. I don’t want you to worry about it anymore.”
With those two sentences, the fear that was gripping me about my unborn child and his health fled. Brandon had reminded me what Jesus is like. As the head of the house, Brandon had every right to make the final call. Instead he lowered himself and told me that he cared more about me than about being right. If he could love me so well, how much more would Jesus love us and lead us well and take care of this child I was so worried about? It suddenly didn't seem to matter now what decision we made.
It was going to be alright.
Perfect love really does cast out fear.