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But did I learn things? Yes. For example, one day I was ministering to [Muriel], taking care of her, and I said, "Honey, you're the luckiest girl on earth. You don't have a worry in the world. You don't have anything to plan; everything is provided for you. Why, you don't even have any guilt; you don't have any sin to repent of."

Then I thought about [the fact that] I loved her but she can't love me back. For some years after she went to bed, in the morning our eyes would connect briefly, I mean really connect. She was aware of my presence, and she'd gaze at me and smile. Her trademark, of course, during her life, was her laugh, her smile. And when she did, I would fly a flag out front because I wanted my friends and neighbors to know this is a smile day. But then in the last three or four years, there weren't any smile days.

At any rate, I would love her, but she couldn't love me back, and that's a painful thing. As I was leaning over her that day, I thought, "Lord, is that the way it is between you and me? You pouring out your love and care so consciously, and what do you get back—a brief salute in the morning, we connect, grumbling when I don't get what I want, when you don't do it the way I like?" How sad—sad for him.

Obviously, you have said it was a privilege and only fair that you care for her. But do you ever think about what you may have given up to care for her?

I don't feel like I've given anything up. Our life is not the way we plot it or plan it. And so I guess all along I've just accepted whatever assignment the Lord gave me. This was his assignment. I know I'm not supposed to have that kind of reaction, but you asked me, and I have to be honest.

I often tell the story of how early on, about two years after I resigned, a young couple came out [to visit], and the man said, "Do you miss being president?" And I said, "You know, I never thought about it. But now that you asked, no, I don't. I enjoy my assignment. I like learning how to cook and garden and keep house, and taking care of my beloved." At that time she was still responding to loving care.

But that night, after I went to bed, I thought, "Lord, I never asked you why. I'm apt to ask you, 'Why not me?' Everybody is suffering; everybody has loss and heartache. It's part of our human, fallen condition. So you know I don't ask why. It's your business; you're the one in charge. But, if a coach puts his player on the bench, he must not need him in the game. And you don't have to tell me why you don't need me in the game. But sometime, if you'd like to, I'd much appreciate it."

So I went on to sleep. The next day, [Muriel] was still walking sort of wobbly, and we went out for our walk around the block. I'd have to hold her hand to balance her.I heard this shuffling behind me. I looked back and here's a local derelict. He looked us up and down. And then he said, "Tha's good—tha's real good. I like that." And then he wandered off, mumbling, "Tha's so good." And I chuckled.

When we got back to the garden and sat down, all of a sudden, it hit me. I said, "Lord could you speak to me through a half-inebriated voice of an old derelict? You did, and if you say it's good, that's all I needed to hear."

So I had that assurance all along, that this was my assignment and was pleasing to him.

Have any others told you that they've chosen to drop their professional responsibilities to care for their spouses?

Oh, I get that all the time.I don't take credit for any of those decisions people make. But they write to tell me about it.

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February 2004, Vol. 48, No. 2