Home > Marriage > Emotions
Marriage Partnership, Fall 1996
I'll Call You When I Get
There
Every business trip ends with one consuming thought,'I want
to do better when I get home.'
by Gary Thomas
When you travel as much as I do, going to Tampa is the equivalent of going
to your office across town. Years ago, when I traveled only a few times a
year, I'd make big preparations for my departure. Now, instead of keeping
my garment bag in the attic, it hangs in the middle of our closet. Departures
have become frustratingly routine.
Once, someone asked my wife, Lisa, where I was working that week. She had
to admit she couldn't remember what state I was in. And sometimes it's not
until I board a plane that I realize we didn't take time to hug each other
before I headed out.
When I'm on the road, I crave familiarity. I eat at the same chain restaurants
I find close to home. I stay in the same chain of hotels. That way I know
where the belt hook is in the closet, what the shampoo and soap will smell
like, and that I'll have an instant hot water faucet over the sink.
It's when I'm in these familiar surroundings on the road that I'm free to
think about Lisa-in a way I can't back home. At home, I'm rushing from work
to fixing things to helping with the kids and, finally, to bed. On the road
there's more time to think, to remember why I'm married to this woman and,
frequently, to realize where I'm falling short. Instead of wondering why
I can't find any clean socks, I wonder why I don't take the kids out more
often to give Lisa an afternoon of quiet. Instead of becoming frustrated
at finding the gas tank on empty whenever I use Lisa's car, I remind myself
to make sure I fill it before I leave town again.
Some of my travels take me near the homes of friends, and that sends my thoughts
hurtling back to Lisa. Not long ago, I watched one of my friends cuddle with
his youngest child on the couch. My friend and his wife homeschool their
children, and I found myself talking freely with them about curriculum. Yet,
for some reason, I have failed to have that same discussion with my wife.
Sometimes I wish I could be as good a husband as I try to be a guest. I always
wipe a friend's sink when I'm finished using it, but Lisa can't get me to
wipe down the shower stall at home. I can logically prove to her that it
takes more time, in aggregate, to wipe it down every day than to let it stay
wet and clean it with scum-busting spray every two weeks. But I'd never attempt
such a discussion with a friend.
Yes, I'm always a wonderful husband-at a distance. One time, when I was staying
in New Hampshire, I wrote Lisa a letter about what I was feeling. It was
in the autumn-my favorite season-and the chestnut-colored leaves all around
reminded me of the color of my wife's hair. I knew I'd be home before the
letter would arrive, so I stuffed it in my briefcase. When I got back, I
felt silly handing Lisa a letter. After all, why couldn't I just say what
I felt?
But I gave her the letter anyway, and Lisa cried when she read it. Trying
to explain what I had felt on the trip wouldn't have been the same simply
because the emotions would have changed by the time I returned home. After
12 years of marriage, I know feelings matter to my wife. She wants to know
exactly what made me think of her hair as I walked through the autumn trees
in New England.
It never fails that as a business trip draws to a close, my one consuming
thought is, "I want to do better when I get home." Yet, more often than not,
those good intentions collide with the reality of "getting things done" at
home.
When I walk through the door, I notice the window screen still needs to be
fixed and the outside light bulb is still burned out. The kids are in their
pajamas, ready for bed. Lisa is dressed casually, looking like a tired single
mom. It's hard to not feel like an intruder.
I slowly feel my good intentions give way to another overriding reality—how
tired I am. It's been said that weariness makes cowards of men, but it also
makes Archie Bunkers of well-meaning husbands.
The selfless husband I become in my mind, the husband on the business trips
who makes Lisa's dreams come true, never quite makes it home. I want to tell
Lisa just how much I missed her, how good it feels to be holding her again.
But my tongue, tired from talking with others, is reluctant to start moving
again.
I realize with a sigh I'm not going to be the husband I wanted to be-not
entirely. Yet I know for certain that tomorrow I will start wiping down the
shower. And I'll go through the Christmas catalogues with Lisa before she
has to ask again. I'll even sit down and pore over the curriculum books with
her.
That's because I've been reminded that this home, with its dripping faucets
and aging carpets, with its kids who sometimes argue and a mom who gets
exhausted, beats any lonely hotel room I've ever stayed in.
Gary Thomas is the author of
Sacred Pathways (Thomas Nelson). He lives in
Manassas, Virginia, with his wife and three children.
Copyright © 1996 by Christianity Today International/MARRIAGE PARTNERSHIP
magazine.
Fall 1996. Vol. 13, No. 3, Page 5
Last updated: September 17, 1996
Marriage Partnership
Home | Archives | Contact Us
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
Try an Issue of Today's Christian Woman Free!
|
 |
|
No credit card required. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery. Offer valid in U.S. only. Click here for International orders.
If you decide you want to keep Today's Christian Woman coming, honor your invoice for just $17.95 and receive five more issues, a full year in all. If not, simply write "cancel" across the invoice and return it. The trial issue is yours to keep, regardless.
Give Today's Christian Woman as a gift
Buy 1 gift subscription, get 1 FREE!
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
| 
