A Wife's Resolve

The boy grew up throwing balls and telling jokes, somebody's little brother. Always looking up to terrific parents and older siblings and church leaders. He grew into a big, strong man with a great big heart. But though he grew tall, no one seemed to notice.

With a smile he worked as unto the Lord each day, just as he had been taught, never giving a thought to what anyone might owe him. He shrugged and the smile broadened and the front door was open to all. He was friends with the outcast and the thief who stole their wedding money and the suicidal boy and the guys in jail and anyone who laughed at him, and it was no big deal. 

The man who seemed like a boy was married to a girl who seemed like a woman and when the baby was coming they decided to look for more salary. They bought new shoes and a tie and although he still made time for anyone with a need, he was often left waiting. And they all smiled together because God had a great plan for the boy.

He loved everyone, no matter what, and the devil was strong but he was always so much stronger. And no one knew. They thought he was just a boy. 

Most of the time, that's what the man thought too.

The world does not take seriously such a humble smile of grace.

Neither do I understand this forgiving kind of heart, blindly trampled and still beating with unconditional love.

But I see how they don't come to the parties he hosts each week and how he waits long hours for unreturned phone calls and how he works and smiles until he sleeps. I know how he stays around until midnight to listen and listen and listen to the bleeding teenager who just needs to talk and how a man wearing a skirt waits on the corner each morning to share life with him. Even though no one else understands how he could be content in such a menial job, I know about the instant gratification of delivering letters and magazines and packages and the thanks of the slower workers for helping them out too. 

He is underdressed and mincing words, and I see them all poking him in the ribs, patting him on the head. I see them taking for granted the muscle, the effort, the unparalleled humility and wisdom. And I want to tell them exactly how they are holding back potential and how he just might believe this too if they would take him seriously.

All we are told becomes our identity.  

My finger is pointing all around, at him, at each one who walks on his heart and doesn't know, and I look down and see it. Those other three fingers, they point right back at my own unbelieving heart.

Memories flash from just yesterday...

"What were you thinking?"

"Do you realize what you just said?"

"Pick that up."

"You can't do it that way!"

The finger falls, a decision floods my veins. 

I know the man. Maybe I even know him best. If only in this house, in this heart: He is a king. And I intend to be the first to start treating him that way.