When I was little, pizza was the Friday night special. Mom and Dad had a standing date night, and we enjoyed pizza and a sitter. “Book It” was also the rage in elementary schools. It was the way to earn free personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut. Once you finished a book, you would receive a coupon. My sister and I couldn’t wait to earn our reward!
We were brand new newlyweds. It was a rainy evening, and Chuck and I decided to order pizza. I don’t remember why, but I remember Chuck was dancing with me in the living room. When the doorbell rang, I went to answer the door. There was our hot and ready pizza. The lady smiled as I signed and gave her the receipt copy.
Before she left, she said, “By the way, I saw your husband dancing with you through the window. That’s something special.”
After she left, I began to think of all the years ahead of us, and I hoped that Chuck always found time to dance with me.
Washing greasy pans to the rhythm of bathing babies and feeding dogs moves less gracefully than the beautiful two-step I had envisioned. The waltz of throwing fresh grass seed over the yard, filling rock around the established landscape, or remodeling the house, glides a bit differently than the slow and easy embrace in the living room ten years ago.
Just like families are behind our troops, there is a dance in a marriage that no one sees- a “holding down of the fort,” if you will.
The dance often looks like staying behind when you really want to go. Nonetheless, when your in-step together, it is a graceful movement.
We have this image, or at least I do, that holding hands beside the grave or cheering someone on from the sidelines as they make their dreams happen makes us the ultimate supporter. Some may think anyone who isn’t present is failing.
Understand me. We need to support our friends and family through the rain and shine. People remember who showed up. But sometimes, extenuating circumstances keep the dance at a distance.
During a conversation with an older gentleman, he told me that his wife always got up before him and put his shirts in the dryer so that his shirt would be warm when he put it on for work. It made me think of my mother, who irons all of my dad’s shirts and jeans, so they are pressed to perfection when he grabs them out of the closet. What a delectable melody that must have been between them.
I remember watching my dad grab my mother for a dance to the music he would sing. Mom would be hard at work finishing tasks. She would breathe a heavy sigh in his arms and then smile as he led the way.
Earlier this spring, I had Charlotte playing in the playroom while cooking supper. Eva was outside helping her daddy throw straw over the new grass seed. I could see her with handfuls of straw steadily packing it on top of all the seeds. I hollered out the kitchen window, offering my support, “Chuck, she’s got that too thick. You won’t have enough straw to cover all the seed.” He looked at me and put his finger to his lips, telling me to “shh.” Then he smiled and said, “I already know it.“
Daddy didn’t care about the extra work of fixing her piles of straw. He saw her willingness to spend time helping him.
Eva often asks me how she will know when she finds her prince? First, I let her know she has plenty of time. Let’s wait a few years. Then I gently pull her and Charlotte close and give them the secret to finding him.
“You will know you have found your prince if he loves Jesus, works hard, and always dances with you in the kitchen.”
Welcome Home
“Bless his substance, Oh Lord, and accept the work of his hands. Let the blessing come on the head of Joseph.” Deuteronomy 33:7,11,16 (paraphrased)
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