It’s The Little Things

Bob set up the orange Tommy Bahama sunbrella and we plunked into our Coleman camp chairs to root for our grandson’s soccer game. A stiff breeze cooled the air, but also made it necessary for me to hold the umbrella upright. Usually Bob does it. No biggie—until about the end of the first quarter when the muscles in my arm were genuinely tired.

When I think of what I am thankful to my husband for, I tend to think of the big things. I know he continued working a job he had grown bored with because it provided a living for us. I know that if a pit bull rushed me, he would throw his body in the way. But how many day-to-day favors do I gloss over and not thank him for?

There was that mouse that died in our hobby room a few years back and stunk up the place. I don’t know how he got rid of it. I don’t want to know. But he did. There was that post-tonsil-surgery episode when our entire bathroom looked like a crime scene in the middle of the night and he cleaned it up because I can’t do blood and guts. He takes the trash barrels out to the curb every Wednesday evening for pick-up. Could I do it? Yes. Do I appreciate that he does it week after week? Now that I think about it, yes, I do. He holds my door, pays for my McDonald’s senior coffee, he holds that beach umbrella almost every single time. I don’t think I say, “thank you,” nearly enough.

So, Bob, I’m about to ask you to proof and approve and comment on this blog post. And I know you’ll make it a priority simply because I asked. So, while I have your attention—thank you. Thank you for all the little things you do.

And ladies, I showed you my list. Now it’s time for you to ask God to show you the many little things your man does. Write them down. Give it to him. And add a very special “thank you.”