So excited to bring you a guest post today from a writer I really admire. I first found Bronwyn's blog when a friend shared her post on the little word that changed her prayer life. It changed mine too and I started making a point to read her writing regularly. Whether she's parceling out advice about in-laws in her Ask Bronwyn series or helping us all win at parenting, her writing is rich and funny and real. Today she's sharing a story about an out of the ordinary note on the mirror.
There comes a time in marriage when you just can’t talk about a thing any more. You need to say your piece, and then leave it in peace.
This is how it was for us on the topic of when to have children. In the newness and chaos of our first year of marriage, we had made a decision to delay: at least until he was finished grad school. But as grad school dragged on, I became more and more persuaded that the reasons underlying our delay were not faith and wisdom, but fear and selfishness: How would we afford it? Would we ever get to travel again? Would we even like children? After all, they come with a strict no-returns policy.
I bundled all my reasons and wrapped them up with a g(u)ilted bow: “If we say that children are a blessing,” I wheedled, “then why do we live as if they wouldn’t be?”
But my husband didn’t agree. It wasn’t wise. It wasn’t time. This wasn’t a fear decision, and we weren’t going to talk about it any more.
We didn’t talk about it. For months. And, over the course of the summer, the nagging sense of urgency I felt abated some. I sensed God calling me, once again, to learn to trust my husband: just because he wasn’t talking about it, didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it. I needed to trust that he had heard me, and that he cared.
I bit my tongue a thousand times.
One crisp October morning, I rolled out of bed realizing I was running late for a women’s breakfast I was slated to speak at in less than an hour. I catapulted into the shower, mentally making lists of all the things I needed to do before heading out the door: Apply mascara. Grab something to eat. Pick up notes for the talk. Wear something compatible with a lapel mic. Oh, and it was that Saturday: the one every four weeks when I had to resume taking the little pills which kept us faithfully baby-free. I started brushing my teeth while I rummaged in the drawer for a new pack of my pills.
There was just one pack, and it had a tiny yellow piece of paper stuck on it. I did not have my glasses on yet, so I had to bend low to the drawer to read the tiny writing on the Post-It. My husband’s writing was unmistakable: “You don’t have to take these any more,” it read.
I squealed all the way back to the bedroom, leaping onto the bed with my mouth still dripping toothpaste. “Really? Really?” I giggled. “Really,” he said.
I made it to the breakfast on time, and more than a few people commented on how happy I seemed that morning. I thanked them and smiled mysteriously. It was not for the to know that while I spoke, I kept a tiny yellow post-it of promise tucked into my pocket.
Bronwyn Lea and her husband became parents a few months later, and now live in California with three lively kiddos. They can't imagine life without them. Bronwyn writes about the holy and hilarious in life and parenting at BronwynLea.com and various other fun places online. Follow her on Facebook, Pinterest and Twitter.
Lindsey again. Don't you love how Bronwyn tells a story? And are you encouraged to practice more trust in this season of whatever you're waiting for? Here's hoping for promises to put in your pockets. Hop on down to the comments and leave Bronwyn some love.
Do you have a story to tell? Check out my guest post guidelines, I'd love to hear from you.