Mysterious ways…

The Lord works in mysterious ways. No one knows this better than my husband. Dave is a good man. He is honest, hard working, patient, kind, wise… He’s never said a terse word to me in my life. Once when he was frustrated, he said “Marianne” in a way that I could tell I had frustrated him. He chooses not to make matters worse by arguing with me. If it was that important, he’d speak up, but the little things simply don’t matter. Our home is peaceful. Dave went to Chicago this weekend. I stayed home so I could see Molly and take her to the airport in the opposite direction. My last blog opened a lot of hearts, and in one day, we managed to furnish an apartment for 3 homeless siblings. I had promised a spare bed from my parents’ house. When I got over and looked at it, sentimental feelings overwhelmed me, and I decided I would give the kids the stuff in my spare bedroom instead. My dad and I decided we’d move it later when my nephews were here on Thanksgiving. I make decisions like these, always have, without discussing them with Dave. He never seems to mind what I do. The movers came to my house right as Molly and I left for an overnight stay in St. Louis. This morning, Dave and I headed home about the same time. He arrived first. While in Chicago, he and our friend went to a communal confession at a big Catholic church in downtown Chicago. He was given 7 choices for penance. He came home and called me. The Lord works in mysterious ways, Marianne. I started giggling. One of my penance choices was to give to the poor. I came home, and my bed was gone! Dave usually sleeps in the spare bedroom since we both snore ridiculously. I thought,  “God  must really think I need to think about my sins”. Do you have a plan, or is this a permanent penance? I was giggling pretty hard by this point, imagining what he must have thought when he discovered it gone. I thought I could get it taken care of before he noticed. He reminded me of the time, years ago, when I went into confession before him. I had thrown him under the bus to the priest for missing church. The joke ever since then has been to never, ever, follow me into the confessional.  It kind of hit me then, at what point did I think it was ok just to take a man’s bed and not tell him?  I do have my reasons. A few years ago, I bought identical mattresses for all the beds. Molly has always complained that she doesn’t like hers. My mom’s mattress seemed perfectly good, and I wondered if Molly might like it better. My plan was to exchanged Molly’s into Dave’s room, and give her my mom’s. In my head it made perfect sense, but I can only imagine and laugh picturing Dave when he arrived home…

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