His biggest fan

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As I lovingly watched my husband playing catch in the floor with our granddaughter last night, it was like Déjà vu.  Wasn’t it just yesterday, instead of over 20 years ago that he sat doing the same thing with her mother?  One of my favorite things about my husband is unconditional the love he has always shown to his girls; daughters and granddaughters.

Today we celebrate 23 years as one and although we have been through many things, they have only served to strengthen us.  It isn’t really what you go through though, that will ultimately either make you or break you; it’s how you handle what you go through.  As you “partner” through things, making sure to communicate, you find your love and respect for each other grows.

As life happens, we are often tempted to take one of several different roles.  At times we put on our long black robe and become judge, doling out opinions of guilt or innocence, and deciding what sentence we will impose.  At other times we wear the disguise of investigator, seeking and searching for clues and facts to settle our rabid curiosity or to put our insecurities to rest.

We all think we are attorneys sometimes and we take much pride and care in arguing our case, we dwell on the offense and prepare exhaustively to defend ourselves.  It’s not always worth it; pick your battles.

Maybe (usually in our younger years) we put on a warden or police uniform and make sure everyone is where they are supposed to be at all times, dogging our charges to ensure their behavior meets our expectations, enforcing our rules.  We all like to play comedian at times and tease each other but don’t demean each other in front of others.  You shouldn’t do it anyway, but in front of people is especially cruel.  What begins as teasing or joking can become a habit of insulting and degrading each other.  Shelter each other as best you can and keep your problems to yourself within reason.  Build each other up, don’t tear down.

None of the aforementioned roles serve to strengthen when played out in a marriage; as a matter of fact they tear down and destroy.

On the positive side, we can be teachers, learning from and sharing with each other along the way.   We can put on a white coat as we nurture one another back to health.   Some of us don’t mind at all donning our waitress uniform and apron as we dazzle our beloved with delicious dishes.   Our male counterparts seem to enjoy the greasy old mechanics uniform as they try to “fix” everything, when sometimes we don’t need to be fixed, just heard (but hey, as least they are trying).

I find I am happiest when I am just intent on being his best friend, his lover and his biggest fan, praising his accomplishments and forgiving his failures.  There is a lot to be said about that old saying, “if you treat him like a king, he’ll treat you like a queen.”  Are there exceptions?  Do some marriages fail no matter what you do?  Yes and yes.

Am I saying things are always perfect?  Absolutely not, and they won’t be this side of heaven. Do I have it all figured out?  Nope, but I’m working towards it.  I do know from years of experience if I keep my focus on God and practice the kind of love He has shown to me; He will keep me in perfect peace.

 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love never fails.  1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door

love is

The writing prompt at The Daily Post, said, “This week, we’re asking you to consider things from a different point of view — to walk a mile in someone’s shoes.”  If I understood correctly, we are to write from the perspective of someone else.  Here’s my attempt:

“Honk, honk, honnnnnnnkkkk”.  The young man slowed as he came alongside and looked at me angrily and mouthed what appeared to be obscenities.  He continued pressing his horn as he sped by me, my hands gripping the steering wheel securely at the 10 and 2, just like my dad taught me.  Maybe I was going too slow, but better safe than sorry.  The honking incident hadn’t done much in settling my nerves today.

Moments later, my blinker flashing, I carefully turned into the grocery store and found a spot up close.  That walk isn’t as easy as it used to be and although I’m not ready for a handicapped space yet, the closer the better.  Before I opened the door, I plundered in my pocketbook for an elusive tube of lipstick.  I feel like I need some color, but I’m careful in my application.  I don’t want to look like those old women who miss their lips and color outside of them.

Getting out of the car, I glance down at my Dr. Scholl’s walking shoes and have to remember to be thankful I can still walk instead of wishing I could still sport high heels without pain or injury.

Entering the store, I walk toward the long line of carts and immediately sense the impatience of the sharply dressed young lady behind me.  She is obviously in a huge rush, so I hurry to get out of the way and feel grateful when the cart comes apart from the others easily and all the wheels work.

As others pile into the store, I again feel the pressure to move out of the way, to get through the front door and move to the side.  Tears well up, as I realize I’m considered an obstacle or a bother once again.  I long for my love, my soul mate to be here with me, by my side.  His hand would always guide me and his presence gave me comfort.

In the aisle for baking goods, as I struggled to read the ingredients on a jar, another woman, this one large and more interested in talking on her cell phone, than paying attention, almost knocks me over.  I overhear something about “the old fool” to her friend on the phone.  I am older now, but I still have feelings and ears.  What happened to respecting the elderly?

I look at the cases of water, and would love to get some, but I’m not sure I can grip and lift, and then I would have to also get it into the car, and then into the house.  The cart is heavy even without the water, but I manage to get the few items I came for and make it to the check out.

The young man operating the register asks, “paper or plastic?” in a frustrated tone, like perhaps he’d already asked me before, so I answer him and begin to arrange my items on the belt.

Behind me, I notice a beautiful young woman, maybe barely in her twenties, wearing a big smile.  She says, “Ma’m, could you use some help?” I looked at her with damp eyes, her kindness griping my heart.  Before I could answer, she was at my side, unloading my groceries.

Her only purchase was a gallon of milk, so she quickly caught up with me before I made it to my car.  She insisted on helping me put the groceries in my car, told me to have a nice day and carefully closed my door, when I got in.  With that big smile and a little wave, she was gone.

This young lady had no way of knowing it, but this was my first shopping trip ever without my husband by my side.  He passed away just last month and after all the affairs were settled and the family all back to their homes, I found myself alone, with empty cupboards.

My emotional state was fragile and this girl showed me attention, respect and kindness, asking for nothing in return.  I felt the corners of my mouth turn up and into a genuine smile for the first time in a long time.

Hold the door

Guys!  Hold the door for me.  Please!  I expect it.  I’m not sure if this is part of my southern upbringing or my age or just the fact that I am a girly girl, but if there is a man in the vicinity and I am approaching a door, I expect him to do everything in his power to have it open for me by the time I get there.  I also expect to be offered the last chair and if I drop the load I’m carrying, I want help picking it up.

English: A page from Brathwait's book that dis...I just want the male population to know that there are some of us who appreciate and expect your consideration.

I talked at length a while back with a male friend about this conundrum and he no longer knew what to do when faced with one of these possibly volatile situations.  He was raised to treat women with respect and open doors, pull out chairs and pay for dinner, but he never knows when his civilized gestures are going to make him the brunt of an attack.  He’s been subjected to cursing by the ones who don’t need or want his help, but he’s also experienced the thankfulness of those who do.  Ladies, men have a hard enough time trying to figure us out, don’t you think?  I pity them sometimes.

To all the guys out there, if you open a door for me or perform any other chivalrous act, you are going to get a great big thank you with a smile.

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