September is a full month at our house. Virginia weather is gorgeous in September. Festivals and fall fairs can fill in every blank on your calendar. Our church missions conference – which is always a highlight – is every September. We celebrate two birthdays and our anniversary. With those celebrations, I have extra opportunities to reflect on family, God’s goodness and on this life my husband and I enjoy. September is a month to simply enjoy my blessings.
The month started off just that way – feeling blessed and loved. Then one random afternoon – I cannot even recall the details – we were headed out to wherever. My husband did not open the door car for me. And I was just a bit more than miffed. When it happened again, I was flat out annoyed. I even felt insulted. I’m pretty sure that I responded with a much larger than necessary huff and hard shut of the car door.
Mind you – my husband has never been in the habit of opening the door for me. More importantly, until one random day in September, I have never cared one iota about it. Where had these emotions come from? I think it had only been a few days before that I had witnessed a friend’s husband open her door for her. I noticed it and, evidently, it only took that one, innocent thought to nudge open the gate to the comparison trap. I fell right in.
My husband and I are in a wonderful season of our lives – the one where we now can finish each other’s sentences. We have routines and habits that make life comfortable and secure. We know who washes and who dries. Who opens the blinds each morning and who starts the coffee. We know who walks the (grand)dog when she is here and who fixes the “decorative” pillows every day after we make the bed. And we have used the same routine for getting in and out of the car for decades. I know all of this perfectly. This post is not about whether or not a man should open the car door for me – or any other lady. For some, that might be very important. But for me, that was not the problem. The problem was choosing one (for us, insignificant) thing and choosing to compare my husband to someone else.
I used to think the comparison trap was for much younger wives. How quickly I learned the truth. Satan is just that tricky and oh so subtle. My heart – even as a middle-aged wife – must always be on guard.
As for the dog, the blinds, the coffee and the pillows – that is all him! He even washes the dishes but we let them dry themselves. I am, indeed, blessed and I’m choosing to make that my focus.
