I often get the sense that people think I’m crazy.  Because I nearly always tell my husband, ‘yes.’

‘Yes’ – you can direct that big band gig in Lincoln just for fun, driving 2 hours there and 2 more hours back, on a Monday night, leaving immediately after school and getting home long after the kids and I are asleep.

‘Yes’ – you can go to Haiti with a friend for a couple weeks, drive the truck down to Florida and put it on a boat, and then fly on over, to drill wells and build roofs and help set up bunk beds in the orphanage there.

‘Yes’ – you should take that job interview in another city, even though it would nearly break me to leave these people, this community, that I love, would rip my roots right up and out of the ground.

‘Yes’ – I will come on that band trip to New York City with you, even though it’s not really my cup of tea and I know I’ll come home feeling more tired than when I left.

‘Yes’ – I will grade those music theory tests for you tonight, even with the piles of laundry sitting there on the couch, the Legos scattered on the living room floor, the reading and writing I’ve been dreaming of doing since waking up this morning still sitting in a pile on my desk.

‘Yes’ – go on ahead to Germany for that month this summer, to play trombone with a 12-piece brass ensemble, telling of Love and proclaiming His goodness in music, experiencing another culture and building relationships while I stay home and cook and clean, taxi our four young kids to soccer games and theater camps and Vacation Bible School.  And go on to Germany again next summer too, it seems…

He and I, we’re junior high sweethearts, see? Have known each other since the age of 14, known each other since before we really knew ourselves even. Have been married more than 16 years now. And Nathan – you could probably tell by the comments above – he’s a high school band director, gone most days from 6:30 in the morning til 5:30 in the evening – teaching, playing, fundraising, mentoring students, always trying to improve upon and bring excellence to everything and everyone he encounters. Plus there are the evening commitments associated with his occupation – concerts, recitals, band parent meetings, parent-teacher conferences, music education workshops, honor bands and pep bands and marching competitions on the weekends. It is a full life, and not for the faint of heart.

Now there are likely some women out there who tell their husbands ‘yes’ because they feel that they have no choice, might live in situations of abuse and fear, or might have such a zealous definition of ‘submission’ that they feel they must say ‘yes’ to live a moral life. That is not me. I don’t say ‘yes’ to my husband because I’m afraid or because I feel like saying ‘no’ is morally wrong or ‘not my place.’ I am not a doormat or a pushover, I don’t think. In fact, in many respects, I’m kind of ‘the boss’ around here – I oversee all of our income, coming in and going out, I run the house – the budget, the groceries, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the family calendar, the bills, the kids’ activities and appointments and schoolwork.  And Nathan, he nearly always checks in with me before committing to anything, wanting to get my thoughts on the matter, us deciding together if this ‘one more thing’ is feasible to add to our lives or not, if what may be gained outweighs what must be given up. And he is open to hearing ‘no,’ those times I haven’t said ‘yes.’

For a time, I wrestled hard with this, this telling him ‘yes’ so often, mostly because it made me feel like a freak, like our marriage was ‘abnormal’ or ‘sub par’ or ‘in danger.’  To others, it seems to be a cause of great concern – the fact that he’s gone so much, adventuring, exploring, finding joy in ‘extras’ – those things he wouldn’t have to do, but wants to do. And in all honesty, I am lonely a lot, feel like a single parent some days, have spent time daydreaming about what it would be like to have a husband who is around more, have spoken words of complaint and self-pity to friends or passersby more often than I’d like to admit.  Have to constantly work toward a heart softened and chop vigorously away at the roots of bitterness when they try to stealthily entangle my spirit.

So saying ‘yes’ isn’t easy for me, not in the least. And I am even open to the possibility that perhaps it is the wrong approach, that maybe I am making a mistake in saying ‘yes’ as I do – not looking out for the best for our children, not ‘guarding our marriage’, not ‘putting our family first.’  And yet, I know my husband.  I know what energizes and drains him, what keeps him going.  I know the strong call he feels placed upon his life, to live outward-facing, ever mindful of using his gifts to the glory of God, not squandering what we have been given.  I have walked the dark road of depression with him, prayed him on day after day, helped him find a counselor and medication to counteract the very real sickness that threatens to distort his perspective on life.  And I know how my husband experiences love, how my words of affirmation and my willingness to serve him in practical ways – my allowing him to pursue things that bring him joy – causes his cup to fill right up to overflowing.

And so, what else to do? For what is love, but the giving up of oneself for another?

And I have come to believe that this hard and messy road too – the ‘yes’ to him and the denial to myself – might be His very best, not just for Nathan, but His very best for me. Because if I wasn’t lonely and weak and drained dry most days, would I even be able to see my need for a Helper and a Friend, a Comforter and a Lover? Would I know Him at all, feel the overwhelming pull to stumble wearily to the Well of Living Water? And what could be a worse fate than the inability to see the poverty of one’s own person, in both body and spirit?

Such a paradox – that it is only in our poverty that we find His riches!

So I press on, as best as I know how, making mistake after mistake, no doubt, stumbling and falling at times, being continually called back to Love when my heart turns quickly to grumbling and covetousness and self-pity, always feeling a bit like a freak for all the ‘yeses,’ but not knowing any other way to live. For we can, all of us, only do our best to live and to love as we feel called. And His mercy must come in to cover and envelop the cracks and crevices in our meager attempts at both life and love, yes?

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