The Man's Coming Home

Today’s the day! The man’s coming home! So much to do. The kitchen is clean, the counters bare, good access to his coffee maker, only the pile of election materials on a corner of the kitchen table, plenty of room for him to eat his oatmeal and fruit with his tablet propped up. Just got to vacuum the upstairs (it’s been awhile), swab the bathroom, take that ladder downstairs (still there from the summer painting project). I wonder if I can get inspired to mow the lawn or take down more of that wild Salal growing beyond the bounds of propriety? Or is it raining today???

And where is he now? Nine hours time difference - surely he’s left beautiful Odense, crossed the strand on the train and taken off for Reykavik by now. Hurray!

Poor fellow! All that confinement in a narrow seat for hours and hours. How tired he’ll be when he finally crosses his own threshold. Will he want food? Dinner? Or will he have had all the airport and airplane food and snacks to fill him up without quite satisfying him? Will he want to head straight into his cave and maybe even do a little programming? Oh, I don’t know, but he’ll be home, gloriously HOME!!!!

So go my thoughts today. Husbands are a most precious gift. So say 47 years of close experience. And then there's the oft-sung blue-grass lyric from “The Wreck of the Old 97”:

So ladies, you must take warning and from this time on now learn. Never speak harsh words to your true-lovin’ husband. He may leave you and never return.

The Bible has somewhat to say about the gift of husbands. Although, I feel that husbands have gotten short shrift in the Bible, as though the gift of a wife is more to the point. Try Proverbs or Ecclesiastes or the touching story of Isaac and Rebekah. Well, Adam and Eve, for that matter!

Oddly, I just finished reading Song of Solomon in my Bible Read-Thru. Here at last, the man does get some air-time.

My beloved is dazzling and ruddy, outstanding among ten thousand. His head is like gold, pure gold; his locks are like clusters of dates and black as a raven. His eyes are like doves beside streams of water, bathed in milk, and reposed in their setting . . . . (Song of Solomon 5:10-13)

Ladies, shouldn’t we all be writing love songs for our husbands? It’s true, I’ve grown accustomed to his face. But, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Ah well, maybe I'll get to it after the vacuuming's done.

Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow. (James 1:17)

-ed. note - he made it home