“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything; tell God your needs, and don’t forget to thank him for his answers.” ~ Php 4:6 (TLB)
I leap before I look, speak before I think, and bungee jump to conclusions. If you don’t believe me, then you probably don’t know me. Anyway, here’s what I’m talking about.
One day, a year or so into our marriage, my husband David and I stopped at Home Depot. David needed some fasteners for one of his projects. I decided to wait in the car.
Now, at this point in our relationship, I already knew David wasn’t fast. (My nickname for him is Pokey-man.) But, I reasoned, the parking lot’s half-empty, the store aisles are clearly marked, and he knows exactly what he needs. He’ll be out in a flash, albeit a slow flash.
After ten minutes, I looked at my watch. What could be taking him so long?
Another five minutes passed. Maybe they’re short-handed at the registers?
Three more minutes went by. What’s the hold-up?
My brain froze. Hold-up? Like a robbery? What if …?
A few more cars pulled in; people hopped out. Should I warn them to stay back or to get down?
Before I could shout out to them, I heard a siren. Yes! Someone called 9-1-1 about the 211 in progress.
I whipped my head left and right and twisted back and forth in my seat, waiting for the law to arrive.
When an ambulance pulled into the parking lot, I was semi-relieved. Phew, it’s not a robbery. Maybe someone in the store had a heart attack? … David? … No, it couldn’t be him. His cholesterol is 40 points lower than mine.
More time ticked by. Maybe I’m the one having a heart attack? I began to hyperventilate.
Before I could say “baby aspirin,” David sauntered out of the store, holding a bag the size of his shirt pocket.
“What on earth took you so long? You scared me half to death!”
He stared at me with a blank look. (He does that a lot.) “Um, I had a hard time finding the right screw length.”
From that day forward he’s made those harrowing trips to Home Depot alone.
A friend invited me to a choral performance at her church. We arrived early enough to get good seats—third row, center aisle. Since it was one of their most popular events of the year, the room filled up fast.
Although the audience remained seated for the first few numbers, the conductor invited us to participate. Depending on the song, we were alternately asked to stand or sit.
As the show progressed, I noticed something odd: The gentleman seated to my right seemed to be getting closer to me. I checked to be sure I was lined up with the chair in front of me. Then, more than once, I repositioned myself in my chair, claiming non-verbally, “This is my seat, buster!”
After another song and another few inches of him getting closer, I turned to my friend on the left. “I’m think I’m sitting next to a pervert.”
She leaned over to me, “What did you say?”
Before I could repeat myself, the conductor asked us to stand for the finale. When it was over, I turned to sit, sneaking a peek at the weirdo to my right.
As I did so, I noticed my chair was not lined up with the row behind mine. I scanned the auditorium. The placement of the chairs in each row was OFF-SET.
My Epiphany: I had one cheek on my chair and the other cheek on his the whole time.
After a long year of treatment and hospitalization for Acute Myleloid Leukemia, my husband’s visits with his oncologist were always a bit unnerving. The clinical trial he’d been enrolled in was just that, a trial. So we never knew exactly what to expect.
After months of weekly, then bi-weekly, follow-up appointments, the doctor announced at the end of one visit, “We’re going to send you away for three months.”
I sat there stunned and confused. In the half minute before the doctor could say another word, my mind took off in all different directions.
Where are they sending him? Is it close? Will I be able to find my way? Is this like some lab rat experiment? Can he have visitors? Conjugal or otherwise? I don’t remember reading about this in the clinical trial manual. Shoot. If only I’d read the clinical trial manual.
The doctor continued, “By that I mean, go home. Relax. I don’t need to see you back here for three months.”
Well, why didn’t he just say that in the first place?