Wendy Willard

Today is my husband’s birthday (he’s 41, but you didn’t hear that from me ), so it’s only appropriate that I write about him.

As a mom of girls, I’ve spent a fair amount of time thinking and praying about their future spouses. Of course I pray they will each find a Godly man who cherishes them, a man who will courageously lead his families through the trials and tribulations we all endure at some point.

But I also pray they will find life partners who patiently listen and give wise counsel, especially during times when an emotional outburst might occur… Just in case you’ve never had one of those (emotional outbursts), I’ll give you an example.

About a month ago, I was in the middle of a major problem with a client project. It was huge. It was big. It was painful. The problem was made monumentally worse when I discovered my secret stash of chocolate had disappeared.

Tsk. Tsk. Before you tell me about all the starving kids in the world, and that I shouldn’t get so worked up over a few candies… let me explain a few things.

During the week in question, I had missed an important email and ended up losing three days of work time. By Thursday of that week, I realized I needed to somehow fit eight hours of work into a mere three hours of time. I was really stressing. I wanted chocolate. No, I NEEDED chocolate. I tore apart my refrigerator looking for a bag of peanut butter cups leftover from our summer trip to Hershey Park. I KNEW there were at least three left, but I couldn’t find them.

I instantly decided someone (one of the seven other people in the house – my husband, our two girls, and four houseguests) had eaten my chocolates. Definitely. They were STOLEN!

So now I wasn’t just worked up about the work I wasn’t going to get finished on time, I was plotting a path of destruction through my house to find the culprit and hold them accountable. I called my husband at work and told him we needed to hold a house meeting that evening, complete with judge (me) and jury (me). That conversation went something like this:

ME: My chocolates are gone!

HIM: They are probably just misplaced.

ME: No! Someone snuck in here when I wasn’t looking and ATE them!

HIM: So what? There are starving kids in the world you know…

ME: Someone needs to PAY for this crime!

HIM: I could really go for some wings right now… how about I pick some up for dinner?

Yada yada yada. And so it continued. He eventually convinced me to wait it out… that they would eventually show up, and even if they didn’t, that it was not worth accusing anyone in the house over. Of course I felt otherwise, but I agreed to trust him.

I am ashamed to admit I stewed over those dumb peanut butter cups for at least a week. Eventually, I did forget about that (after I had replenished my stash). And then it happened… I *found* those three peanut butter cups. In the refrigerator. Behind some other stuff. Still in their wrappers. Not stolen. Just in time to ward off another emotional outburst.

I write all of this as a round-about tribute to my husband – the man who kept me from making a fool of myself by accusing my kids and my friends of something they clearly did not do. So today, his birthday, there are a lot of reasons I am thankful God gave him to me, just one of which is his ability to provide wise counsel just when I need it. Happy Birthday Wyeth!