I’d had enough.

I’d had enough of the bickering and tension. My husband and I were at odds again.

I wanted to leave.

However, history taught me not to leave abruptly. The last time I’d left upset, I went to sit in my van in the driveway — as we moms sometimes do — and not even ten minutes later, I was greeted by a sheriff’s deputy.  My daughter, who was four at the time, had called 911 and hung up when they’d answered. She thought I’d abandoned her (#momfail). On a positive note, she knew how to dial 911 (#momwin), but it was a rather humbling experience to explain the situation to the deputy as he worked to stifle a giggle. (Yes, God has given me Nora to teach me many life lessons!) So this time, I knew better. I changed into workout clothes, grabbed the leash and my headphones, and announced to the family that I was taking the dog on a walk. No one protested, so I left.

At this point in my marriage, I’ve found taking some space to be the best remedy. When I return to the conversation with a cooler head and calmer mind, wisdom and reconciliation can prevail. So I decided to head to the park — knowing it’s far enough, yet close enough to create adequate distance.  As I began walking the 2-mile loop, I instantly started complaining to the Lord about Derrick.  

Why was he so difficult, God?

Why do our conversations have to take such hairpin turns and spiral into an all-out war of words? 

Why do I get to the point where I feel the need to leave to keep from saying toxic words I’d later regret?

Lamenting out loud, my eye caught the little, orange book-sharing box our neighborhood has provided to residents.  I decided to stop and peruse the options as I have a challenging time passing up books… especially when they’re free. Plus, curiosity (or sheer nosiness) makes me wonder what my neighbors are reading. I’ve also scored a few great options for the kids, too, so that’s always a plus.

As I thumbed through the mashed-up pile of random books people had cleared from their shelves, I stumbled upon one about grief and loss. 

I immediately thought, Why did someone choose this book?  Did someone else gift it to them? Did they feel like they’d overcome this hurdle, and that’s why they donated it? Or did they not want to deal with this issue, and that’s why they removed it from their home?

Regardless of the reason, I was here holding it in my hands.

As I flipped to the back cover, I read the summary. Inside, there was a 200 plus-page synopsis of a man’s journey through the loss of his wife. Cancer had stolen her from him, and these pages held his grief-filled story. 

I decided to close it and put it back, thinking someone else could benefit more than me. But I hadn’t even taken four steps from the box when thoughts started scrolling through my head. 

I wonder if that man would give anything to be fighting with his wife right now? I wonder if he would be overjoyed to be arguing with his wife instead of mourning her loss?

And that’s when the Holy Spirit spoke to my soul and gently whispered, “Angela, love him like you’d lose him.”

Instantly my mental protests and justifications ceased. I felt conviction.