It was Friday late afternoon. I had been alone in the house for over three hours after dropping the boys for a weekend at their dad's. I had relaxed, finished a book I was reading, spent some time on Pinterest. It was a nice afternoon, but come about 4:30 or so, and I was ready for company. Barrett gets home around 5:30 each night, and would be just a bit later because our plan was to indulge in pizza (it has been awhile!), and to watch Lost on Netflix. We were only a few episodes from being finished with the show, and we had been really into it. Sounds like a great plan for the night, right? It did to me anyway. At 5:15 I get a call from Barrett that he is headed home with the warm pizza. As we are on the phone, he says, "Oh great, I should've remembered to stop." He was running out of gas! Barrett fills me in on the fact that the Explorer had been warning him all day that the fuel was low, but he kept putting off stopping, and then had forgotten. He was two miles past the last gas station between his work and home, and the car was beginning to stutter. "If you want pizza and a husband home tonight, you're going to have to come bring me gas," Barrett says. He begins to tell me where the extra gas container is in the barn, and what exit he is off of. I was so irritated. It had been such a relaxing afternoon, and here we had plans for a great evening, and he runs out of gas?! Twenty minutes away no less..., with a wife that hates to drive (I know, I know, but I truly do). I know that what I said next was not pretty, that there was a very loud sigh (probably could've heard it from where he was without the phone!), and me telling him, "Geez Barrett-you ruined tonight! Just text me the instructions. I gotta go throw shoes on and grab my keys!"
Two minutes later I am in the (nasty) barn with the Ranger key in my hand, because Barrett told me I would have to move the Ranger to get to the gas cans because it was blocking the stall they were in. This involves me opening up both heavy barn doors, driving the Ranger out, getting the gas, then putting the Ranger back. Opening the first heavy barn door, I eyeball the stall that the gas is in. Hmmm...if I can just shimmy across the back seat of the Ranger, I won't have to mess with moving it. This will be faster AND easier. Perhaps just faster, I think as I squeeze through the back, into the stall, and lug (a very heavy) gas can up onto the back seat and then heave it across the other side. Stumbling to the car with the (HEAVY) gas can, I realize I have not crated Max (the Wonder Dog), so I sigh and open the back door of my once clean car. Furry dog in the back, gas in the front, and a still very irritated wife in the driver's seat, I peel out the driveway.
And then it dawns on me...What is the BIG deal? This night can go two ways right now, and I am solely in charge of the outcome. I can continue to be mad at my husband for something he did by accident, ruining the pizza night date, or I can choose my own adventure, and just go with it. I slow to a stop at the corner, and text Barrett: I am so sorry. I will be there soon. I love you. Got a drink? We can eat pizza and watch the sunset. As I drive, I realize that my initial reaction was to be a jerk to my husband. I also realize with chagrin, that my husband would NEVER act that way if I ran out of gas. He would rescue me in a heartbeat without thinking twice. It is Barrett's unconditional love for me, that is teaching me how to treat him, others, and even showing me what God does for us daily.
I arrived on the side of I-5 to a giant hug, kiss, and a husband that was grateful I had decided to not be angry. He jokingly told me that I was his Princess Charming. After we got a few gallons of gas into his car, I followed him to a country road where we sat in his car, ate still-warm pizza, laughed and talked. We missed the sunset in all the excitement of re-fueling his car, but we got to see the hills begin to darken, and listen to the frogs croak. I am thankful for Friday, because I learned a much needed lesson. We are all authors. Life is our story...and we choose how to write it.
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