My recent happy-dance commenced when my husband came inside holding a UPS delivery and wearing a smile.
The Calling of Ella McFarland had arrived!
I cleared a space on the kitchen counter.
He set down the box and took out his pocketknife.
“Wait! Let me get a picture!”
“Of the box?” Barely veiled incredulity on his part.
“Of course.” Duh.
And then the opening … and the drum roll!
“Stop! I need another picture!”
“What?” Unveiled incredulity this time.
“Don’t you know it’s a process?” Duh.
He scratched his head and complied.
Then my “Oh … how beautiful … I’m going to cry.”
He humphed. Flipped pages. Umm-ed. And nodded.
“Take another picture.”
“Of …?” He eyed my bedhead and p.j.s.
“Just my hands. Holding a book.”
Relief showing, he followed instructions and then, “I’m going to the shop.”
Which was my cue to spread out the books and start snapping photos. Forget breakfast.
Meanwhile, I’m doin’ my happy dance! And thanking God.
P.S. I can’t count the hours my sweet husband devoted to preparing meals, doing dishes, washing and drying clothes, shopping, running errands, protecting my space, listening, enduring my occasional wails, encouraging, praying, and even shedding tears over some lines as I wrote Ella’s story. Like Aaron and Hur on the mountaintop supporting Moses’ hands (Exodus 17:8-14), Al held me up when I grew weary.
You turned my wailing into dancing … Psalm 30:11