My husband is a big fan of fairs. The Ferris wheel, tractor pull, watch-a-calf-being-born variety.
And, of course, the baby photo contest at our local fair, held over Labor Day weekend. Since I’m the main photographer around our house, every year he asks me to choose some pictures, get them printed out and framed, and enter them at the county fairgrounds exhibit building. Every year, photo entry time hits at a bad time for Mom (yes, I’m making excuses) and I’m scrambling at the last minute to get the photos entered.
So, for this year’s fair, he started reminding me several months in advance. He particularly wanted a cute picture of all three girls for the sibling category.
“Got that sibling picture covered?” he would ask.
“Yup, I’ve got it totally under control.”
The week prior to the fair arrived. I continued to tell him I had it totally under control. The day before the fair arrived. Still totally under control. Then the morning that exhibits were supposed to be submitted–by 12:00 noon sharp–he looked at me glumly and said, “I guess we’re not going to have any baby photos at the fair this year.”
That’s right. Clearly, I did not have anything under control. In that moment, I felt a flash of irritation. I had a dozen blue ribbon-worthy excuses why I hadn’t produced any photos for the baby photo contest.
But the truth was that I simply failed to prioritize something that was important to my husband. And I knew it was important. Because, fortunately, he doesn’t make me guess what is important to him. He tells me. Months in advance. And all the while that I was reassuring him that I had it under control, the baby photo contest had not even made it onto my mental to-do list.
My husband did not look miffed in that moment. He just looked sad.
Sometimes while taking care of little ones, in the din of all their clamor for food, attention and love, our husbands…sort of drop off the list. Or they’re clinging to the edge for dear life, with that hang-dog look belying their lack of sleep, lack of physical contact, lack of time to themselves…you probably can fill in the blank.
I tend to think to myself, “Well, unlike these little people in our house, my husband is a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
What I’m forgetting is that in addition to my vocation of being a mom to our three daughters, I have another equally important calling. I have made an actual list of all my vocations, and there in black and white is my calling of being a wife.
And this calling is from God. He gave me the gift of this very husband at this very time in my life. That vocation involves taking care of him each day. God prepared in advance these daily opportunities to take care of him. (Ephesians 2:10) In the same way that God equips me to care for our little girls, he equips me to be the wife he calls me to be. (Ephesians 4:7). Serving my girls is serving Jesus himself: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” (Matthew 25:40) In the same mysterious way, serving my husband is serving Jesus himself. When I see my husband, I also see Jesus there.
This is a challenging time. Both of us have many responsibilities from God and many demands on our time. But I don’t want my husband to have to white-knuckle it, clinging to the edge. I want us both to flourish. How can that happen? When I feel that unwarranted irritation, when I think that I can’t fulfill this calling, God tells me to tap into the power of prayer: “Pray in the spirit on all occasions, with all kinds of prayers and requests.” (Ephesians 6:18) Then I can “be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power“–not my own power, but His. (6:10)
I apologized to my husband, especially for telling him that I was working on the photos when clearly I wasn’t. I have the gift of a husband who puts into practice forgiveness for me, just as we have forgiveness from Jesus. “That’s okay. You have a lot going on, after all.”
I looked at the clock. 10:25 a.m. “Girls??” I called. They were busy wreaking havoc in our den downstairs. “Girls! Guess what! Everyone needs to get their princess dresses on–right now!!”
I raced downstairs and tore princess paraphernalia out of our dress-up clothes bin. Our oldest, who absolutely loves anything involving a race, a challenge, and/or mom being frantic, ran to my side. “Grab the princess shoes! Grab your necklaces!” I commanded. “Here! Put this on!!”
I snatched up our three year old and pulled a Merida costume over her head. I wrestled our baby into her frilly princess outfit and stuck a hat on her head. I cleared some of the wreckage from in front of the girls’ princess tent, and we plopped the three of them in front of it.
“Okay, everyone!! Look this way and SMILE!!”
Well, almost everyone was looking.
After putting the princess photo and a few others in frames that I pulled off our bureau and hurriedly emptied of their prior contents, I drove on two wheels to the county fairgrounds, screeching into the gravel lot at 11:59. I raced into the building and located the baby photo entry table. “Can I still enter these?” The two women running the table looked at the clock. 12:02.
“Sure. No problem.” I love these ladies.
So, did our sibling photo win a blue ribbon? Well, not quite. We got a lovely, rainbow-colored participation ribbon. This cute photo of our four year old did win fourth place, though.
And, best of all, my husband was happy. He doesn’t ask for blue ribbons. He simply, and rightly, wants to stay on the list.
