Yesterday we went in search of a three-bedroom house for rent. We weren’t going to see inside the house yet; we just wanted to drive by and check out the looks of it from the outside. It was in a tiny town several miles away.
The directions we had to the house sent us on a main road. However, since we were already far from the main road, we took a little detour. This detour lasted about an hour longer than it would have taken us had we settled for the original directions. Sitting in a car for an hour and a half, winding down bumpy dirt country roads with a baby in the womb kicking the crap out of my bladder – I was less than a happy camper.
My husband, on the other hand, was calm as can be. As we met dead end after dead end in the middle of farmground and desolate woods, he happily pointed out attractive-looking houses, stopped the car to observe some deer munching on corn in a field, calmly took notice of the sun setting in the distance, and generally carried on as if nothing was wrong, as if we weren’t repeatedly being blocked from getting to our destination at every turn of a corner.
Meanwhile, I was fumming on the other side of the car, nearly pulling my hair out at how long this drive was taking us, panicking as the last light of day was winding down below the horizon. My lower back was aching. I couldn’t find a good position that would stop Baby from putting pressure on Mommy’s bladder. The radio was too loud. The sun was in my eyes. The window was making a strange whistling noise. We were going too slow. The ruts in the road were getting deeper and deeper. Another dead end and I was ready to dive out of the car and start running in whatever direction I landed in.
My husband is the epitome of patience. I love him for it…and hate him for it all at the same time.
“How can you be so calm?!” I finally scream in that high-pitched voice we both know so well.
He gets that smile that he always gets whenever I start this conversation.
“What is there to be upset over? We’re just driving. We’ll get there eventually.”
“We…have…been…driving…for…an…hour….already.” We were literally driving 25 miles per hour at that point down a dirt road that had no houses or any other signs of humanity for miles.
I could have ripped my hair out by the roots. But I am so glad that he is this way. There have been times when we were late for appointments, and even after I called the place to tell them, even after multiple reassurances by him that we would be there and they would wait and everything would be okay, I would still be sighing loudly, biting my lips, huffing and fidgeting and grumbling under my breath. In the midst of it, I will realize I’m being ridiculous, yet I still can’t seem to control myself or my racing thoughts.
But if there were two of us in the car, I don’t think we would survive.
That’s why I’m so glad to have him to remind me that nothing is that important to get stressed over. Alhumdulilla – he is always first to say. Before I even inhale to let out a scream – alhumdulilla, he says. And I am reminded and thankful to have such a wonderful husband. In moments when things DO go wrong, he is quick to say it, quick to remind me, quick to say “thank you Allah” for everything, with and without bumps in the country dirt roads in the middle of nowhere.