Saturday night I found myself ironing a shirt, slacks, and tie while Daniel was going over his notes for the next morning. It was a flashback to our two years at Heritage, and it made me smile. It has been too long since I have flown solo on a Sunday morning, meeting up with my well-dressed husband later in the morning when the kids and I finally appeared among the congregation, scrubbed and combed and smiling. It has been too long since I watched my husband cry behind the pulpit, moved by the truths he was conveying. It has been too long since I watched him fumble over the compliments following the service, trying to slip out the side door before too many people made him blush.
And it has been too long since I sat across from him at Sunday lunch, watching him scarf a much-needed burger while trying to keep his tie out of the ketchup.