Reflective Meandering

Thoughts on faith, people, politics, travel, and transition.

Late Again

on November 18, 2014

The hubs and I are different in a lot of ways, but one of the most profound is in how we view time. I don’t like to be late. I was raised in a military home and was taught that you’re not on time unless you’re five minutes early. The hubs is Latin American. If you know anything about these two cultures, the military culture and the Latin American culture, you know they deal with time VERY differently.

So, needless to say, time is one of the biggest things we argue about. He is late home from work and I have dinner on the table, or has told me multiple times that he is leaving work, only for me to find out that he ended up in a conversation with his co-workers that held him up, you name it, if it’s about time and tardiness, we’ve argued about it.

Side note and confession: the get-home-time-problem is probably exacerbated by the fact that I am home alone all day and cannot wait until the hubs gets home so that I can share in life, communicate, laugh, and cuddle. We are borderline co-dependent in that way.

At any rate, just last night, after Life Group with other married couples from our church, we were talking about last Friday, and how I could be more patient with the hubs in his lateness and how he could be, well, more on time. It was a wonderful conversation where I felt that we really committed to meet in the middle, to compromise.

And, less than 24 hours later, Satan brings our differences to the forefront yet again.

He texted me in the afternoon that he would leave at 6:30. That’s a relatively normal time. I wasn’t prepared for normal though, because he’d told me he would be late coming home this week. So, I hopped in the shower and quickly started dinner. It was about 6:55 pm when I put the chicken in the oven. It only takes 30 minutes to cook.5 minutes later, I got a text message saying his boss diverted him for 30 minutes and he was running late. Then, I got another text at 7:30 pm. He had been diverted by another co-worker and then a call from his brother and he was just leaving. He would be home an hour later than anticipated by his text just a few hours earlier, and dinner would be cold.

Didn’t we just talk about this? Didn’t I just tell him how it makes me feel when he reschedules on me multiple times? I texted him that he made me sad and went into our room to cry. I went into our room to mourn the days that I felt like I mattered, like I was important, and like I was at the top of his priority list.

Then, I thought about grace.

Boy do I hate being gracious. How many times had the Lord been gracious to me, giving me what I hadn’t deserved? How many times have I been commanded to forgive my neighbor? Seventy times seven? For the same thing? Over and over again? Ugh! While I had no desire to forgive his untimeliness yet again, I realized 1. I do not help our situation by sulking, 2. I can only hope for as much grace as I’m willing to give, so I need to learn to give it in abundance (I need it in abundance!), and 3. I am commanded, not encouraged, to forgive. Commanded. Seventy times seven times.

Fine. Today, it is my turn to forgive and forget, to show a little grace to the one who matters most in my life. Today, I’m not going to go for a run right when he gets home — I’m not going to pout or sulk. Today, I will love the hubs like Jesus does. Hopefully, I can learn to make grace my go-to reaction, rather than one I have to work so hard to arrive at, but until I do, thankfully, the Word is hidden in my heart to remind me of that which God commands of us for our good.

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