I was brushing my teeth that night in my PJ’s, mulling over the day, when I had one of those moments–y’know, where God just tugs my chin upward a bit, lets me peek in a bit to what’s solid: to what He’s really doing in all these mundane days that slip by, another X on the calendar.
I walked to the bed, sat down next to my husband, suddenly overcome. It was late; we’d just had a struggling friend over, and my husband had spent hours in conversation seeking out practical solutions with her.
I recalled how my day had begun. A close Ugandan friend had lost a family member in the night—one of three family members he’d paid for to go to the hospital this week. I spotted him the loan for transportation to his village, for the goat he was expected by tradition to provide. But it was my husband later who texted him, telling him it wasn’t a loan, but a gift.
My husband went to work, faithful to his role in management. He came home and loved on his kids, tickling my son before all of us sat down to dinner with our guest. As I type this post, he’s at a friend’s house who was robbed just a few hours ago. (I guess you could say it’s shaping up to be a rough week.)