A promise is a promise. It is supposed to be as easy as that. I could only wish. What's tough to take really is when you make a promise with a loved one in the presence of God and fall short in keeping it. At the time that you suspect you might just break it, all hell let loose and it happens. No matter how hard you try not to. It just happens. Right there. In front of the man you married.
I simply promised not to nag on him on small stuff a woman thinks a husband should or should not do on a Sunday.
So how does a wife with an electric drill (of sort) of a mouth deal with that? I wish I could just look up to the clouds, call on one of God's trusted angels and help me deal with my furious husband. I knew our Sunday morning was screwed up already. We would be late to church.
Our one-year-old Kiny was bewildered at the collition of galaxies. Her wide-eyed look stopped me short of my litanies. This couldn't continue. So, against my usual noisy nature, I went silent for the longest time--one whole hour or so.
I knew the whole time, I was guilty. I just lay down beside my anger-stricken husband and whispered my apology. As expected I was crying. I tried not to. But being a cry-baby, there I was. And there, my husband took my apology. I knew he would. He tried to hide a smile of delight and relief in his eyes, tried to be mean and quiet. Then he took me in his arms, hid me there for a brief moment. Just that, and I got healed. We got healed.
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