(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.
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