For Better or For Worse

Due to circumstances beyond my control, my husband and I got into a fight last night. Here’s the thing: I didn’t know that he’d brought boxes home from work for me. (I’ve been nagging gently reminding him to do so, as we have stacks of books in the basement that need to go into storage.) I didn’t know that the kids were cutting up these special boxes to make new dollhouses. (Well, I knew that they were cutting up boxes. I just didn’t think to ask where they’d gotten them because I was so pleased at their creativity. It’s minus something something degrees out there. What else is there to do?)

Here’s another thing: none of the above matters, really. The fact is my husband worked hard to provide a service for me, and I need to say thank you and I’m sorry.

Four words: “Thank you,” and “I’m sorry.”

Because you can bet that I didn’t say these four precious words last night. I said a whole lot of other stuff, however!

I am going to use my normal blogging time to make amends. Meanwhile, I would like to republish the following post from two years ago. Note that it was also written in January, and then forgive me for my cabin fever anger.

…to be annoyed.

And it’s taken me…what? Only 40 years to figure this out?

What follows is the post of a person prone to….

a person prone to….

a person prone to….yes. I admit it. A person prone to annoyance.

Do you know, when I looked up “annoyance” at Thesaurus.com, I found 37 synonyms. 37! They include such gems as acrimony, cat fit, conniption, dander, distemper, fury, gall, huff, miff, peevishness, petulance, rankling, temper, tiff and vexation.

How very unflattering.

Following this list of 37 was a lonely little group of antonyms: affection, calm, forbearance, glee and goodwill.

I’m getting the impression that peevishness is a problem; a state of calm, the sad exception to almost everybody’s rule.

And I’m thinking, if “I” can overcome my personal tendency towards petulance, I can skim decades off my stay in purgatory!

(The “I” is in quotations, by the way, because I don’t do anything on my own. I have tens of celestial cohorts who put up with me on a daily basis.)

It should be easy. All I have to do is fish the massive beam out of my own eye and leave the speck in my neighbor’s alone.

My husband will be thrilled with this decision, as it is rare that his wife leaves his little specks unscathed.

For example.

On Sunday evening we returned from a trip out of town. I was tired and slightly cranky, no doubt a result of the heap of gas station candy I’d consumed during the 4-hour drive. (Bit o’Honeys, by the way, are far more sickeningly sweet than I remember. And those new Kit Kats with caramel? Bleh. Don’t even go there.)

Anyway. You know the feeling. You’re coming home to a cold house and bringing a pile of laundry with you. The kids are clamoring for the computer and all the momma wants is her blog fix.

It took affection to not be selfish.

It took forbearance.

It took….far more glee than I could muster at that time.

The last little straw in my steadily growing pile of emotional annoyances was the slipper. My slipper. Left on the floor in my mom & dad’s guest room by my beloved, who’d done the packing and who’d forgotten—how could he?—to check under the bed.

Grrrr.

The house was cold and so were my feet.

I made my way muttering upstairs.

And there, in our bedroom, to my sad, head-hanging shame, I saw it. Not my slipper but the stack of clothing he’d asked me to pack for the weekend: a clean t-shirt, socks & boxers, and a pair of shorts for being comfy around the house.

In short, the stuff one really needs when traveling; the stuff of his that I’d forgotten.

And when he found out at my mom & dad’s that I’d failed to pack them,

he just shrugged and said, “Oh well.”

Ah, the graces one finds in her marriage! I am so thankful for my husband’s patience, and am so eager to begin again by working on my own.

Love is patient. Love is kind.

Love is never peevish.

All for the Greater Glory of God,