By 9 a.m. this morning, my husband was already having a hard day.
Adulthood is hard. Things like insurance and taxes and getting out of bed every day seem so normal form the outside, but from the inside, they're strange and weighty and nerve-wracking. Add graduate school to that, and all of it gets multiplied by a billion.
This morning, I hugged Chris, trying to hold him together while a sense of overwhelm and inadequacy pressed down on him in waves. We sat in the car for a long time. We prayed. When he finally got out of the car, his head still hung low and his shoulders slumped. We signed "I love you" to each other, like we always do, and I drove away.
It's so hard to see him like that. I see him desperately wish for skills and strengths that he doesn't currently have, and I see him diligently take care of me in ways I never thought possible. He helps me so much to be brave, to be patient, to laugh it off when life gets hard. During times like this morning, I ache to do more for him. I want to do more than just hold him, and talk to him, and encourage him to turn to the Lord, and manage his home. I get frustrated because I just...can't. There isn't anything more to be done that what I already do. It breaks my heart a little.
At that point, I remembered Dad's advice to take the car on the freeway, for the sake of charging the battery. So I went home, and then took the stretch of highway toward Indianapolis, just because I'd never taken it before.
There's something about driving a little too fast, with the music up a little too loud, that cleans out the cobwebs from my soul. It's like a huge stretch, after my spirit has been sitting in one place for too long. By the time I got home, my hope was restored and I felt ready to accomplish excellent things today - even if it meant needing to bolster up my husband all over again.
After all, that's what I'm here for. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in [a virtuous woman].
And I wouldn't have it any other way.