I asked him if he had people with him. He did. I asked him if he wanted to talk. He did. His suspicion by this point was directed at me, and he asked “What happened?”
I asked again if he was sure he wanted to talk.
Yes.
Ok.
“Well, I … ”
I started again.
“I was backing out of the garage…”
I couldn’t even form a complete sentence. I cried my eyes out trying to tell him about the spray paint, the car, the garage, the bricks. Between heaving sobs, I attempted to apologize. The more I tried to stop crying, the harder I cried.
I couldn’t form words.
He stopped me mid-gulp.
“It’s okay. I love you.”
I tried to tell him all the reasons why maybe he would have wished he would have picked someone who didn’t run over spray paint cans on her way to drop the kids off to school. Who wouldn’t have a garage forever marred by her carelessness.
He wouldn’t listen and said it again.
“It’ okay. I love you.”
Somewhere in the middle of this morning, the thought had crept in that maybe he was tired of me. Tired of the me that can manage to mess everything up in seconds.
If he would have chosen someone else, she probably would have been way more put together, neat, never-ever careless. The list in my head went on and on.
But the list stopped when I heard those five words.
“It’s okay. I love you.”
He said them to me a few more times, and then said he had to go, that he and his crew were on their way to a job site, and he couldn’t talk long. It’s one of the only times I’ve cried that hard in front of him. I know it’s just a vehicle. Just a garage. Just a brick ledge.
But it brought to surface everything festering underneath. Maybe there’s wives out there who don’t run over spray paint cans. (Well, that’s true. I’m not sure I know of another who has. And my friends who found out, immediately told their husbands, in an attempt to prove to their husbands that it could be worse. They could be married to me.)
But the man who chose me said “It’s okay. I love you.”
He didn’t offer to buy me a new vehicle. Or clean the garage. Or take care of the mess.
But he didn’t fuss or fight or belittle. Later, he even said it could have happened to anyone. (I quickly inserted a few names of people I know who would never ever, not on their worst day, run over a can of spray paint they had left out. But I appreciated the thought.)
And when the kids got home from school? Well, that was the best part. They ran into the car at pick up line, and all five clamored in, and immediately asked the question burning on their minds.
What did he say? What did he say?
My smile widened, and my heart felt full.
“He said it’s okay. That he loves me.”
They didn’t believe it. I think all five secretly hoped he would have fussed me and maybe even gave me a punishment or two. They asked him when he got home later that night if it was true.
He confirmed it, and they shook their heads in disbelief. Only one kid was as nonchalant as him about the spray paint. She suggested we simply spray paint the rest of the van as well. Not going to happen.
But I pray they never forget those words by their daddy to the woman he loves.
“It’s okay. I love you.”
It’s an echo of what their Heavenly Father says about them. We tell him our stories, confess our sins, and He says to the repentant heart, “It’s okay. I love you.”
Those five words can make driving around in a spray-painted mini van a little more bearable.
This article originally appeared at Gratefully Broken.
