My husband snores like a freight train. It drives me mad. It interrupts my sleep. It makes me angry. I have visions of smothering him with my pillow. And I won’t even get into the other bodily functions that creep out of his body. Yet, I love him with all that is in me to love.
This video titled, Beautifully Imperfect , should be a reminder to each of us just how imperfect we all are. Don’t watch it yet.
Several years ago my husband, David, had an experience that sent him to the ER. While stopped at a red light he turned his head and momentarily went blind. Of course it scared the yogurt out of him and when he told me about it I insisted that he contact our doctor who in turn sent him directly to the ER.
After hours upon hours of tests and waiting, the ER doc came in to tell us that he was calling in a neurologist and an oncologist. He said my husband either had a brain tumor or leukemia. To which my husband said, “So what’s behind door number three!”
Time came to a screeching halt for the Matthews Family. Nothing mattered to me except my husband. I was immediately transported in my mind to his funeral, crying hysterically at his coffin, begging God to just let me hear him snore one more time—just one more time.
But nothing prepared me for the task of having to tell our children—all young adults who adored their father. Our oldest daughter, Sandi, lived in GA at the time with her husband and three kids (still does). Our middle daughter, Noel, was just starting out on her own and at the beginning of her career. Our youngest daughter was in college and working part-time. The daunting task of having to tell them lay before me and all I wanted to do was run and hide.
On this particular day Noel and Ashlee were working together and had just stopped for lunch. As I sat down at the table with them, I reached out to God for the words. Noel, always the rock, the glue that holds the sisters together said with her arm around Ashlee who had crumbled into a puddle of tears, “Do you want me to call Sandi?” And so she did. I’ll admit I was totally useless at that point.
Sandi didn’t take it well. Her husband came home to find her in a fetal position in the middle of their bed crying uncontrollably, demanding through her sobs that he book a flight out to Dallas that instant.
The next morning we were all together standing around David’s hospital bed. By this time more tests had been run by the neurologist and the oncologist. The results brought the glorious news that he did not have a brain tumor or leukemia and that the initial tests, although did indicate such, really should not have been shared with us until more conclusive tests had been run. But that’s a blog for another day.
At that moment, the floodgates opened and all I could do was sob into my husband’s chest. So now I don’t complain as much about his snoring—or at least I try really hard not to. Now we laugh about the creepy sneakers that invade our bed covers from time to time—because we remember that day when life’s imperfections took a backseat to the possibility of death.
When I saw this video I fell back in time to that day when I asked God to keep my husband forever snoring in my ear and I thanked Him for making us all beautifully imperfect.
Now you may watch…