I stormed out of the room, the baby in one arm, and pulled the door shut with great force. The sound of the door slamming echoed through the hallway and shook the floor a bit. I honestly didn’t mean to slam it that hard, I just forgot that the bedroom window was open, which always makes the door slam with ease.
Although I flinched when the door slammed, I can’t say that I was really sorry when it did. The sound was a bit satisfying, although it was only a minute example of my frustration at the moment. “Good! He will know just how frustrated I am!” I thought.
I plopped the baby in the rocking chair and sternly told her “Don’t move”, then I sat on the other side of the room, far away from her.
I watched her. She watched me. I felt bad, down to the pit of my stomach, but I was just so tired and my head hurt. I just wanted to sleep and sleep was the last thing on her mind. It really wasn’t her fault that we had to run an errand and it took longer than expected and she fell asleep for one hour at 7:00PM, but SLEEP. Please, child, sleep!
I dozed on the couch, while she played on the floor. He never came into the room, like I expected the slamming door would cause him to do. I knew there wasn’t much he could do. I knew he had to work in the morning.
I knew all of this, but I was mad, and sad, and tired, and frustrated. I need sleep!
Eventually, and much earlier than I expected, she started to get sleepy eyes. She came to the couch and said “mama?” I scooped her up, changed her diaper, and then said “Are you ready to sleep now?” She rested her head on my shoulder and nodded gently.
As I walked into the bedroom, I expected to see him sleeping, blissfully unaware that I had even left the room. Instead, he sat there, awake, mask off, staring at the ceiling. I halfway knew I had screwed up, again. Seems like I’ve been screwing up and apologizing a lot lately.
Not this time. I was too ashamed. I just crawled next to him and went to sleep.
Just five hours later he woke to get ready for work. I barely opened my eyes when he kissed me goodbye. Then the guilt hit me. He would be working hard, all day, on five hours of sleep. I knew he wasn’t at work yet, but I texted and apologized. I explained that while I was frustrated, I had forgotten that the window was open and did not mean to slam the door.
He had every reason to be angry with me, but he wasn’t. He said “No worries. The window being open sure helped the door to close. I know it’s going to be a tough day for both of us, but try to have a good day.”
“Why are you so nice to me?” I asked.
What he said made me cry.
“Because I love you. It’s hard with a toddler when you want to get to bed and she doesn’t…We are in this together.”
My husband often thinks that he doesn’t measure up and that he can’t compare to other people. He beats himself up because his prayers, if he says them, aren’t eloquent. He doesn’t make a lot of money and he feels guilty when we struggle. However, he has a more forgiving heart than anyone else I have ever known. He doesn’t hold grudges. When he should be angry, he is supportive and loving. In all of these ways, I believe that he is a direct reflection of Jesus. His forgiveness, his love, his character. I know he has a hard time believing that, but people often don’t know how beautiful they are to others.
There is no one else I would rather do life with. Today, instead of beating myself up over my poor reactions last night, I remembered everything he texted me and was inspired to be a better person. I am so thankful.
I hope everyone has someone like that. ❤