Instead, one of my friends texted me after work that she was at a friend's house and they needed some help. Specifically, she needed some dudes to help lift heavy objects. I only had one dude on call and I am married to him. It's the why help lifting heavy things was needed that made things unusual: her friend was leaving her husband, moving out of the house *she* owns, and wanted to be out before her husband returned from an out of town trip.
I love marriage. I post about weddings on this here blog about three times a week, you know? I considered being a wedding planner. But I also understand that sometimes people change, or aren't who you thought they were, and if a woman is so done that she's moving all of her stuff out instead of throwing his crap on the yard and changing the locks, I am going to be there to help her. This woman who I don't even know, a friend of a friend.
And I volunteered my husband to help move her freaking huge entertainment center. And he did, like a champ, coming home from his workday workout early and still in his gym clothes- and hey, moving a big ol' hunk of wood down steps, across a yard, and into a U-Haul is going to burn quite a few calories. My husband, you see, is awesome. No "Who is this girl? We don't even know her." Once we had verified that we weren't going to get shot or convicted of aiding and abetting theft or anything -- the husband was way, way out of town and, moreover, KNEW homegirl was packing up and rolling out. The ASAP nature of the move was necessitated mainly by the need to return the U-Haul on time, and probably a little bit by her need to not see his face as she packed up her life. She's a friend of my friend, and that's good enough for me. She needed help.
This is probably what my doctor was referring to when he said that my family and I have servant hearts. You need help? Here I am. Here we are.
I felt so terrible for this woman. Her hurt was tangible. She had such a flat affect, watching her things go into boxes and telling the men to watch out for the ceiling fan and be careful not to break the sconces and moving the couch back into place. She took so little with her to start again. She handled her situation with what I can only call grace- no vengeful moves like putting his favorite things into one of her boxes accidentally-on-purpose or taking the toilet paper off the roll. She took what had been hers in the first place, things her mother had bought them, and left a home where she thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with a man she loved and believed she could trust.
And there was my husband. Being reliable. Being awesome. Being amazing. Being really, really sweaty.
I am blessed.
