In Honor of My Husband on His 34th Birthday

I was annoyed with my husband recently. Shocking, I know. Not that I would be annoyed with Paul but “shocking” that two people who commit to sharing their lives together would ever butt heads. (This sounds like a GREAT birthday tribute so far, doesn't it?!)

Paul had been out golfing with our 6 year old, Michael. While he was gone, I cleaned our bedroom. This may not sound huge but there were piles of clothes that had been unmoved for the entire summer! I was so proud of myself for all of my efforts and I was eager to show Paul our cleaned up respite from chaos!

As he was unpacking the clubs from the car, I went to the basement to change over the laundry, only to discover that the laundry tub had overflowed and the floor was a wet mess. Frustrated I went to the sink and saw gobs of grey paint stopping up the drain.

“It figures,” I thought. “Once again, he started a project (paining the porch floor) and didn’t really clean up his mess and now there is water on the floor. Well, I’m not picking those gobs of paint out of the sink. He can do that himself. I have already cleaned our bedroom and done enough for him today. This is the thanks I get for everything I do around here!” And on and on went the thoughts in my mind as I considered everything I do each day in light of the mess on the floor.

Full of selfishness and anger, I brought him to the basement, showed him the problem, and left him there to take care of it. I didn’t bother to tell him how excited I was about the bedroom. The moment was ruined.

And then I heard it: that still, small voice that urges forgiveness for an offense. It was so clear to me. And it humbled me.

“How many more days do you have together?” said the voice in my head.

“How many more days?”

“If you live to be 85, how many more days will the two of you spend together?”

I thought about this and realized it was several thousand days. Grabbing a calculator, I figured that if we live another 50 years, it is 18,250 days to be exact.

And the voice prodded me, “If you have over eighteen thousand days together, are you going to let this one small offense ruin all of that? Are you going to let a few gobs of paint in the sink become such an unforgivable offense that you hold it against him and lose even one day together?”

I hung my head in shame. “Lord,” I prayed, “forgive me for being so selfish. Help me to forgive him and get over myself. Thank you for each day we have together.”

And with that, I joined him in the basement and apologized for my attitude. And of course, he had no idea how upset I really was. Men are like that.

So, Paul Conrow, on your birthday, let me thank you for everything you do. Thank you for loving our children and for loving me even when I can be hard to live with. I’m so grateful that God has given you to me forever. And I’m looking forward to another 18,250 days with you. Happy birthday!