Directly in front of me as I write is a house that burned almost to the ground some time ago, but let me back up. Since my husband's motorcycle accident in November of 2020 (see Crash Into Me), he finally had corrective surgery on his shoulder a few weeks ago. As a result, I am now tasked with driving him to each of his construction job sites. As a Superintendent for a construction restoration company, he has to travel to multiple projects throughout the day, an impossible feat when the operating surgeon has medically forbid him to get behind the wheel. We're now in our third week of me serving as chauffer, and I can tell you this - nothing tests the heart and soul and love of a marriage more than driving your spouse to and fro five days a week. Adultery? Deception? Poor money management? Shoooooot. Those valleys seem like potholes right now as Alex's passenger seat driving voice rings in my ears. I woke up at 3 a.m. today to the sound of "turn left," "stop speeding," "watch out, you almost hit that trash can!" and "honey, what are you doing, the light was red?" I rubbed my eyes in a haze of wonder, looked to my right, and saw him sleeping peacefully in the bed next to me. It was a dream. Whew. I rubbed my head and lay back down, wondering if Jesus would be disappointed in me if I kicked him as an act of catharsis. He was asleep after all. I could always just say I was tossing and turning and accidently threw my leg into his. Nah....I snuggled up next to him instead and breathed in the gratitude of having him by my side. The driving I now do while he heals from his injuries is the result of a terrible accident that could have taken his life. Could have robbed me of the deepest love I've ever known with a man. Could have destroyed my world in a matter of seconds. Could have... but it didn't.
