We had professional photos taken of our daughters, and as we made our way back home, tired but content, I thought of how well the whole thing had gone. I had expected a bit more fussing, and while a few tears had been shed, for the most part it was meltdown free. Amazing.
With naps refused prior to the shoot, I was realistically prepared for the worst. It hadn’t been bad though, and had in fact been kind of fun.
I laughed to myself with the memory of my husband leaping through the air to catch a wayward balloon that one of the girls had let go of prematurely. He had resembled a basketball player, and if a hoop would have been present, I had no doubt it would have been a slam dunk.
Aside from rescuing runaway props, doing the heavy lifting, and taking turns with holding the baby, his presence had a soothing effect on me. Something about his being there calmed my usually frayed nerves.
I had feared rain and running late, or little girl problems like unruly hair and stains on frocks, none of which had any importance in the grand scheme of life, but somehow made a woman want to grit her teeth in frustration and angst. But he was there and that somehow changed everything. It somehow changed me.
While his ability to parent was phenomenal, making children listen where I somehow failed, it was more than that. It was even more than just a second pair of hands to carry bags or a lap to hold a crying child. It was somehow so much more than just a physical presence, though that was paramount in parenting.
I thought of how my reactions ranged in his absence and winced with mild shame. I often become overwhelmed and panicky, unwittingly fearing something else going wrong, an already commonplace occurrence where small children are concerned.
I pictured myself alone with three girls in a field of wildflowers, encouraging natural smiles rather than the frightening looking fake ones they pasted on when a camera came out. I’d be a wreck on my own, and like a contagious virus, the girls would be too. Daddy had that air of tranquility that infected more than just mommy. It pleasantly invaded little, wild girls too.
Yet it was more than keeping cool under pressure or making kids obey. It was even more than the ability to make his wife relax and enjoy the ride. Somehow God had seen fit to use this man to change me, to take the very best parts of me and bring them to the light. He somehow cultivated the good in me, and made me want to change the rest, and not just for his sake, but for my own.
In the short span of years we had spent as husband and wife I had seen God use us to change one another for the better. Somehow by focusing on the beautiful things about the other person rather than pinpointing the bad, it had created a lovely refinement in us both. I had stopped living just for myself, and started giving selflessly to another. It was surprisingly invigorating, and pleasantly reciprocated.
Maybe the bad was still there and you just didn’t notice it as much, but I really don’t think that’s it. I think somehow, by some crazy power of unconditional love, my heart had been changed. My mind about things had been changed. My edges had been softened, and my worse characteristics blotted away.
Forgiveness for wrong doing and love despite failure could encourage a person to desire to change, not because they were being forced, but because they wanted to do it.
Something about his presence, even when he wasn’t physically around, brought out the best in me. He calmed my spastic nature, where as I could effectively light a fire under him when needed. We seemed to compliment the other as far as that went. A perfect partnership made up of two less-than-perfect people.
And as we drove home together, with little girls falling asleep behind us, I felt quite certain that my man had indeed changed me. The funny thing is, I was never so glad.