A Patient Man

 Before supper, I wept.  Waves of grief washed over me and I stumbled up the stairs to my room, pushed aside the pile of clean laundry to be folded and collapsed in a heap on my bed.  As I wept, the patient man climbed the stairs.  He lay down next to me, our heads touching, his hands attempting to calm my heaving body.   My wonderful man tries to calm my heart, not understanding my grief.  He's a man and just doesn't understand the way women work, especially how mean and cruel women can be.  He understands my grief, but doesn't understand the fear of more shame and rejection from our community.  But he waits, patiently, until the storm passes because he loves me.  My wonderful husband sees things I can't see, possibilities for hope that my grief blinds me to.  So he waits and prays, holds me close and tells me about the beautiful land full of promises fulfilled.  I let him be my eyes, be my hope and I grasp tightly.  He prays, hopes, trusts for me when I cannot.  The blessings of patient, God-fearing man are too many to be counted.  As a married couple, we've walked through many storms with the potential of many more to come and within those storms I find more reason to love this wonderful man God gave me.  Now I need to release him as he leaves tomorrow for a conference in the States.  If you pray, please pray for both of us in this challenging time.