I see him walk out in the snow to the shed, his jacket too thin for the bitter cold, his worn boots unlaced where underneath his heels broke free, and his socks were worn holey.
He hadn't eaten breakfast.
He didn't make his lunch.
I knew better than to ask if he had brushed his teeth because I already knew the answer. After ten years you know the answer.
He returned from the shed carrying a red, gasoline can and a set expression on his tired face.
His footsteps leave deep trails in the white snow. Trails of his strength to make it through something so simple, so easy to have render fixed but to him a mountain that he couldn't see.
He heads over to the rusted, old, snow covered car and opens the gas door and he pours and he gives the faithful ole steed a turn and she purrs.
I watch. He was out of gas two days ago. He had been driving it daily. I knew it. He knew it. What should have been a simple remedy was left to last minute juggling because his mind doesn't cross the t's and dot the i's as normalcy should.
The many times and moments that have escaped barely to make it are too many for this wife too count.
I knew he was different before I married him.
He was enlightening, a brilliant mind, a soulful light, a well of laughter, a strong hand, a breath of freshness to this young, tried woman seeking the love of life.
A brilliant mind never formalized. A mind never stamped and approved and sealed.
It wasn't until after I married that I found out or was told that he was diagnosed with add/adhd when he was younger. It doesn't matter for if someone would have told me back then what I know now it wouldn't have changed my "yes" to a "no" so in love were we.
It was only "ADD." It's nothing I've been told and I have read, nothing. It's easily over diagnosed.
If I had a pen for every moment, every word, every outing, every circumstance, every tear, it's never nothing and always something. Especially when he is the head, the provider, the one whom I want to lean on, it's never just nothing.
I remember sitting underneath the bright lights in a conference room, chairs arranged in a big circle, all the women wore big, beautiful smiles as they shared their husbands heart to provide. It was their passion, their life's work, to behold something beautiful to their wives financially.
I sat, stiff and silent my hands clamped in my lap. My heart sunk. I was the only one whose husband didn't have a desire, a drive to financially provide.
Even from early on, I had to remind him to get paid but back then it didn't really matter for we were both with jobs, childless, and I was the floater. Over and over those words and he would forget and if it wasn't for me he would have worked without pay.
We would sit and go over numbers and his brain doesn't follow numbers and how this wife wished that it had or could to this day.
So everyday I pray, pray for a miracle, an open door, a peace that transcends figures.
He may never see the financial need or remember it for longer than a day.
Give him that tarnished, well strung guitar and he could play you a song to get your feet moving, your heart singing, and your hands raising.
Give him that Bible and he could talk your ear off with praises and affections and admiration's and show you God's unconditional love to make your soul alive.
Give him a watered pool and he could swim like an olympian.
Give him that trivia game and he can answer just about every question.
Give him some string, a box, and he can trap you that bird, tell you the type, and its call.
Give him a saw and some tools and he could create just about anything.
Give him some chemicals, some tubes, plastic bottles, and wires and he's a wide-eyed, seven year olds favorite genius.
Give him a few paints and he could draw you a picture and make it look easy and flawless.
And that list goes on and now should come the "but then" list.
Ah yes, that list is lengthy but we all have them this "but then" lists.
All days are merciful grace, all days are for clinging to the One who holds us in his palm, and who gently whispers "I will never leave you nor forsake you."
I sit in the truck, turn the key, and nothing but silence could be heard. The silence was quickly overshadowed by my disbelieving groans of not today. My sweet boy sits and waits at the academy, forty five minutes past pick up time.
From behind the curtains I see them pull into the driveway. Moments later the carpenter pokes his head through the door, all grins, "It started for me. Me and Josiah were praying the whole way home, it would start."
So yeah a weak smile panes my face and I nod and speak through gritted teeth "that I was glad."
Driving the truck to the dealer, I knew it was okay, my husband was behind me, following right behind, just in case.
I needed him, just in case.
I glance away and quickly look back in the mirror and he was gone. The phone beeps and his words flash across the top. "Had to pull over, forgot to shut the hood."
A silent eye roll but after ten years you know all the answers.
But I needed him, just in case.
It melts the heart when there is no "just in case" someone or spouse.
No one was behind me to help except swarms of cars and passerby's in rush hour traffic.
I can panic or I can remember the One who is always here, unseen, quietly unseen, yet still powerfully, miraculously here, who is waiting, watching, and listening.
He is more than our "just in case," He is our sufficiency, our comforter, our defender, our provider and He sits and waits for us to speak to His heart and to show Him ours no matter how tattered or fearful or torn it is. He is the mender.
I don't need a "just in case," I just need Him.
So Valentines Day weeks and marriage week and it's my hope to post more of the same sorts and I hope your here to join in!