Three days of a moaning, groaning mess of a man. Three days of unrelenting headaches. Three days of wrong thoughts and attitudes - grasping at survival rather than a Savior.
He's lying in a hospital bed now - undergoing tests and being given meds that don't seem to want to work fast enough.
I sit here in a messy home - neglected for the running up of soup and pain relievers and the running down of dirty dishes and angry words.
Four little ones sit down and a popcorn-laden family room watching TV as their momma watches the phone. . . waiting.
It's only now in the still of waiting - hands tied, unable to help now - that I realize how horrible I've been. How ashamed I am that I grumbled, shouted back at his shouts, cried in my own exhaustion when he couldn't sleep.
And I pray so hard that it's just a really bad headache - nothing more. And I think how I can be a better wife - a better person. And I turn to God, begging Him to make me into all I'm not - that He make me into love.