Stop, Drop, and Kiss

If I had two ounces of writing skills I could have written this exact story. I want to encourage every wife to read this. It might be long, but I promise you, you will get something out of it!

One small gesture sparked romantic evenings.
by Mandy Houk

A typical evening at five o'clock in our house would find me cooking dinner, my two small daughters desperately in need of a bath, and my ears perked, awaiting a magical sound—the garage door opener. This was the blessed signal that my husband, Pete, had arrived home from work. Yes! I'd think, mentally pumping my fist. Reinforcements!

As he came through the door, I'd give Pete a choice: "You want to make sure the rice doesn't boil over or get the girls in the tub?" And that was on a good day, when he walked in smiling.

If he dared to come home dragging and tired. … Well, game on, buddy. Get ready for the Exhaustion Olympics. "Oh, you would not believe the day I've had," I'd groan. "I did 14 loads of laundry, went to the grocery store, the post office, and the bank—not the ATM, mind you, the actual inside of the bank, standing for 45 minutes in that roped-off line." (Cue the dramatic sigh.) "You've got to help me with dinner; I'm about to keel over." So there.

Then our pastor began a series of messages on marriage. The first three focused on the husband's role. As I diligently took notes, I was struck by my great fortune in being married to Pete. He's tender, patient, tolerant of my insanity, generous, steadfast, loyal, and loving. By the third Sunday, I couldn't get all his wonderful qualities out of my mind. All day Monday I was preoccupied with the kind of thoughts I'd had when we were first falling in love. So when Pete arrived home that night, things weren't all that typical.

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