My wife, Carol, has been away working as a writer-in-residence in Atlanta and she comes home tomorrow. Yippee! At last! Let me tell you that bachelor living has lost its allure.
Maybe every wife should go away for a couple of weeks and let her hapless husband fend for himself. I’ve always figured I pulled my own weight with the chores. I wash the dishes, I vacuum, I clean the bathrooms. But having to cook for myself and feed the cat and take out the trash and do the laundry … I find that I don’t have more time in the evening, I have less. Hardly a moment to sit and read.
The worst part is not having someone to talk to. Yes, we talk by phone every day, but I find the best marriage conversations happen on the fly, when you’re taking off your shoes at night and you remember the funny thing that happened at the office or you see a story in the paper and ask her what she thinks or you overhear her on the phone with your son, laughing.
What does any of this have to do with prayer? Prayer is simply conversation with God, and that intimacy with the divine comes not from just the big heavy talks (“Help me get over my grief at Dad’s death”) but also the seemingly inconsequential comments. Remarks like “God, what do you think of Tim Tebow?” or “God, did we go out of tune on that last chord in choir?” or “God, must we care about the Kardashians?” are also connectors.
As Thomas Merton said, “If I believe that He can love me, I must also believe that I can love Him.” Loving someone means sharing at all levels. I look forward to hearing about the weather in Atlanta and if Carol had any grits and did the rental car work out all right? I have to trust that God is as interested in the mundane details of my life. Somehow they all add up to who we are, God’s beloved.
I’m rushing home tonight to do a quick cleanup of the house, just to say “Welcome home, sweetie!” Maybe I’ll leave something undone just so she’ll know she was missed.
