Nelson and Fritters

Why I don’t bash my husband.
Nelson is an amazing man. He’s got so many talents and abilities. He can fix about anything. He can build just about anything. I want him on my team for Trivial Pursuit because he knows a little about everything.

He can look at a pile of wood and see what he needs to make, or be asked to make something and know exactly how much wood or whatever it’s going to take without even drawing a plan. That astounds me.

He also knows me. It’s not that: I’ve got you all figured out kind of knowing. He’ll be the first to tell you he hasn’t been able to figure me out—as if that were possible. Nor I him. Each week there’s at least one conversation that ends with: You’re kidding I never knew that about you…

And about apple fritters…
Once upon a time…This occurred pretty early in our life together. The girls were little. We lived in Medina. I was an assistant pastor and teacher at a Christian school. Being that busy my house didn’t always have that freshly cleaned look—it wasn’t a pig sty, but clutter ruled big time.

So one day I was having the worst day—the kind nightmares are made of. I was supposed to hostess some kind of in-home party thing. Work was awful. I knew I would get home just in time for the party. I knew Nelson didn’t really have work that day. I was thinking to myself: it would be so nice if Nelson just did the dishes. Back in that day it wouldn’t happen. My mind began to run with the fantasy. It would be even nicer if he found a sitter for the girls. It would be so cool if he’d take me to ChiChi’s for dinner.

I shook my head and brought my mind back to reality. The only thing that this day really needed was one of the killer apple fritters from the bakery a couple blocks from the house. To this day I’ve had none better. Bad days are still referred to as “Apple Fritter” days. If he would just bring me an apple fritter I’d somehow deal with the rest.

I walked into my house and just stood there and wept. Not only had he done the dishes, but he actually pushed the vacuum around the living room. The house was quiet, peculiar thing with two active girls under 5. He informed me that they were spending the evening with a sitter and he had planned to take me to ChiChi’s for dinner—if that was okay? Okay?! Through my tears I barely squeaked out that the only thing that would make this better is if he would have gotten me an apple fritter. He walked to the kitchen and came back with a white bakery bag containing the hugest apple fritter I had every seen.

We’ve been able to surprise each other over the years by seeming to read the other’s mind. And other times we’ve just really missed the mark. The Apple Fritter day miracle has stood as a shining example of how really connected we are. Because of how special that was, we realize that we need to nurture that connection—and we do!

And he loves me.
This one gets me each time I think about it. Yes, he’s committed to me and committed to commitment. But that’s not what amazes me. It’s how he looks at me. Sometimes I catch him sort of staring at me with this “look.” In his eyes I’m beautiful. I don’t see it. I tease him that he needs his glasses adjusted. Sometimes he doesn’t get how I can’t see it. I don’t have to. I just need to see that he sees it and then believe that it’s true. No matter how I’ve screwed up, he keeps loving me.

So those are some of the reasons I can’t bash my husband. That’s not to say he doesn’t make me crazy. He does. I mean, he’s a man after all. He doesn’t take care of himself like he should. I ache to see how he hurts. He’s stubborn. He has a temper. He is a pack rat. He doesn’t always put things away. But all those are blips on the radar, barely worth mentioning compared to overwhelming good stuff that is totally lavished upon my life on a regular basis.

His body is breaking down, wearing out. He often tells me that he’ll be lucky to live another five years. Sometimes I see a different kind of ache in his eyes. An ache for heaven—where there’ll be no more pain. Selfishly I would keep him forever, but I confess I’ve told God that if He wants to take him, it’s okay with me because I just hardly can stand to see him hurt any more.

I know this: if Nelson dies, I think I’ll probably not remarry. I mean, how could I? How could I do that to another person? Those would be some seriously HUGE boots to fill. I’m blessed and I know it and I don’t mind saying it!