“Kyle can do just about anything.” I commented, and my newest neighbor nodded in agreement. She’s already received my husband’s help on a handful of occasions since moving into her lake home, just before Christmas.
I’d said the same thing directly to him at church Sunday evening. Just the two of us cozied up on an entryway couch. Our small group has been doing a marriage study.* And following the video, all the couples disperse to answer discussion questions. What makes you feel cherished? And I say it’s the way you’ll do anything for me.
Of course both of us know, it’s both blessing and curse to be the guy who gets everything done. (I admitted this, too. How sometimes it’s both, when you’re the spouse on the receiving end, needing the help.) Don’t get me wrong. I am beyond grateful, and very aware of the blessing I’m living. I am cherished and I cherish my husband.
And yet. There are mornings. Mornings when I wake just as the sky begins its subtle shift, and there’s the faintest hint of brightening through my uncovered windows. Already, my husband is gone. His quilt is gone, too. I quickly layer flannel pants and a denim shirt over lightweight pj’s, and tiptoe into the dark to see where he’s gone. The living room chair, or the beanbag upstairs—his go-to retreats on restless nights.
Because sometimes you just can’t solve all the problems.
I remind him of this, the morning he leaves early to help our parents with the day's appointments. And he’s happy to go. Determined, usually, to be the advocate who queries the doctor with the unasked questions. And everyone’s grateful.
But this particular morning I know it’s not just appointments. Care-giving is one thing, but life is complicated and there are messes the best of us need help sorting out.
We need another Advocate. Another Helper. And we know it.
Two weeks ago, give or take, we’d been sitting in our usual spots, reading Bibles and uttering prayers, watching the sky’s pink reflection transform our frozen lake, when Kyle’s phone rang. A bit of an emergency at the birth of morning, and oh boy. Now what does this mean?
He was still on the phone, and I’d barely had time to process the question, when the Spirit answered. A perfect solution. One I don’t believe I’d have thought of myself (but then, I’m not usually the fixer, so there’s that.) But in hindsight, I’m still shaking my head.
Now it’s the morning of the appointments, and I’m memorizing the last stanza of my January Psalm when it hits me. I stop my husband on his way down the stairs, backpack in hand. And I read it out loud…
A king is not saved by a large army;
a warrior will not be rescued by great strength.
The horse is a false hope for safety;
it provides no escape by its great power.
But look, the Lord keeps his eye on those who fear him—
those who depend on his faithful love…
And isn’t this the faithful (hesed) love we’re just now publishing a book about!?
Oh look, dear husband! He keeps his eye on us. And aren’t we glad?
Before he heads out, we cozy up once again on a couch, wrapped in the cherishing love of our faithful God. And we pray.
We wait for the Lord;
he is our help and shield.
For our hearts rejoice in him
because we trust in his holy name.
May your faithful love rest on us, Lord,
for we put our hope in you.
Psalm 33:16-18 & 20-22
*Cherish by Gary Thomas