I was home with our first child. I had been waiting for over an hour with the candles lit the table set, and the baby changed and sleeping and a fragrant roast in the oven. By now the baby had woken up with a dirty diaper and hungry, the roast was getting dry and the candles had no audience. I was somewhere between despair at my husband’s death (why else would he be an hour late) and fury at his negligence (why hadn’t he called?). I changed out of the nice outfit I had planned to surprise him with, then bathed the baby and sat down to nurse him. On the way to the couch I turned off the oven and blew out the candles.
Ugly thoughts twisted within my heart. I waited, rocking methodically while the baby nursed uneasily. I aimlessly picked up the family Bible which had been lying there (I am afraid, sorely neglected since the baby had been born) and opened it up. There was no blinding passage from scripture, just a dull listing of Daniel’s patronage. However, it distracted me from my uncharitable thoughts and I am sure, opened me up to His Grace. My husband came home and I had the presence of mind to kiss him hello and hold my tongue. He was abrupt and did not notice the lovely table waiting for its guests, nor the smell of the roast. He did, however, declare that he was famished and began to rummage through the fridge.
It was too much; I told him there was a roast in the oven and went to our room crying. I was inspired to make this prayer.
“Lord, my husband has abandoned me this night. I am lonely and need love. I need affection. My husband is not giving me any. Please, can you fill my heart with love? I am your daughter. Hold me in your arms and comfort me, my Lord.”
My soul was filled. No, consumed in Love. I was embraced by the Holy Spirit and felt strong and good. I was loved by Love itself. And now Love said to me.
“Go and love the spouse which I have given to you. Give him some of my love.”
I went to the kitchen and saw in a moment of clarity the sagging shoulders of my warrior, watched him eat the dry roast without tasting it (thank goodness!) and could feel his loneliness and weariness. I held him and asked if I could bring him anything. He looked at me, his eyes filled with thankfulness and love. I made him a salad and brought him some cold milk, just to his liking. I waited by his side quietly and after he had eaten he told me about his terrible, wretched day. The wrath of his boss who had held him over, causing him to be late. The despair and self-loathing he felt as a consequence. As he spoke and I listened I could see his shoulders strengthen and his chin lift. He paused a moment and said, “Well, it was a bad day, wasn’t it? There shall be more of those, but coming home to you is a good thing. I think we’ll make it, don’t you?” I kissed him and told him I thought we would.
And later in the evening as we sat quietly in the candlelight, I thought, “No, three is not a crowd. Not when the third is Love, so often lacking in this cold world.”
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