My feelings were wrong.
Hubby said: “absolutely not; I do not want you to be a chat host at our online Church.”
I felt my foot permanently on the brake, stifled, held back, marginalized and voiceless. What about my future all my wisdom and verbal skills, organization and drive?!
Every feminist bone in my upbringing was screaming bloody murder!
I only listened and held my tongue and trusted you because I’ve learned the hard way that if ever your phlegmatic-sanguine-go.along.allergictoconflict self has a DEFINITE OPINION…..
I had better get myself by the back of the neck and listen.
Cuz you’re most likely right
(and if you’re not and I have a good attitude then God is going to get you and cover me. Think Abigail and Nabal. Thin smile.)
However, now that years have passed and I have gotten sicker and sicker and weaker and weaker and less able to do stuff and remember stuff and think ….. I’m really glad I listened to myself.
I thought God was going to heal me back then. Well I mean, in the way that I imagined healing to look.
I was completely utterly and gob-smacking-ly…
W r o n g.
Sometimes the journey
is more important
than the destination.
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