Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Our Desperate Journey
After an hour, he reached out and took my hand. "We're in this together," he said. "No matter what."
"No matter what," I echoed, and squeezed his fingers. I felt emboldened to go on.
For another hour we trudged, dodging refuse, unearthing hidden treasures and also hidden traps. My husband pioneered the way through the toughest ground and I followed behind, gathering what he dropped, saving what was useful, throwing away the garbage. And there was a lot of garbage. I'd rarely seen so much in my life.
"Duck!" he yelled, sending a particularly noxious missile over my head, where it would no longer hurt me. I marveled at his strength, at his fortitude. No way could I have faced this wilderness alone.
I tried to be just as brave, but my strength was failing. "I can't go on any longer," I panted. "Can you finish without me?"
"Sure," he said, hiking his whip a little higher on his shoulder. "You go on back to camp."
I didn't want to leave him, but I knew I would only slow him down. I limped away, knowing that he would return victorious, and I would be his woman, sitting by the campfire, hot food waiting for him, and we would tackle a new frontier another day.
And that is the true story of how my husband and I worked together to clean our sons' room on Monday night.