On Monday morning, my wife left me. Packed up some earthly belongings, our only daughter and a credit card, then headed west for a week, leaving Jeffrey, Stephen, and me to fend for ourselves. For her this was good. She deserved a break. She deserved to surround herself with mountains and siblings and hot springs. But for me? Well … let me say that during the last few days I have developed a new theory. If you’re a theologian you may disagree with me, but here goes: I think God invented Eve mainly to help Adam find things.
Adam would be walking around saying, “Let me see … where did I put those figs?” and none of the animals would tell him. So, after God stopped laughing, He thought, this guy can do without a rib, but not without a wife. Ever since, men have been pursuing women largely because they need help finding things: “Honey, do you remember where we put the kids?”
In the last week I have visited the fridge roughly 450 times and found nothing there. Oh sure, there’s milk. There’s Parmesan cheese. There’s soya sauce. But where are the sandwiches? Where’s the lasagna? These are the things meals are made of.
Stephen ran out of socks on Tuesday, and we’re not sure where fresh ones come from. I can’t find my wife’s list of meal suggestions. Jeffrey can’t find any more shirts, so he wears the same one 24 hours a day. It has a very interesting design. This shirt can tell you what we’ve eaten for the last five days.
On Thursday we went to a baseball game and consumed our weight in hot dogs. The box told us they contained “actual meat products,” which was certainly a comfort. After the final out Jeffrey rubbed his belly and asked, “When’s Mom coming home?”
“In six more meals,” I told him. He rolled his eyes and uttered the cutest burp.
What I didn’t tell him is that, although she promised to return Sunday, she is the mother of three young children and has a husband who can’t find anything, so we may not see her until Jeffrey’s high school graduation. I also did not tell him that even as we speak she’s probably sitting in the hot springs swapping childbirth stories with her sisters and saying, “They thought I was coming home Sunday. Can you imagine? Just how insane do they think I am?” And then the mountains would echo with crazed laughter.
It’s Friday now. Earlier tonight I went to a convenience store to pick up the necessities of life: some pop, some chips, a video. Standing in line, I feel a tap on the shoulder. It’s a classmate from high school. We exchange handshakes. “How’s it going?” he asks. “Oh, man,” I say, laughing, “my wife’s gone for a week, so I’m here to pick up some health food. Life’s been a little wild lately.”
He looks down and kicks at a floor tile.
“How about you?” I ask.
“Well, not so good. My wife’s … well … she’s been gone on a more permanent basis. She left a year ago, you know ….” His voice trails away as a little girl peeks out from behind him.
“I’m sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry.”
Tonight I sit alone at my computer, typing these words and thinking about life. About love. About grace. You see, after I got home from the convenience store, I searched through the freezer looking for ice cream. I found some. And to my surprise I found a whole lot more. Lasagna. Homemade buns. All-beef hot dogs. My wife had put them there for us. I hadn’t found the note she left.
I guess that’s life.
Sometimes the best things we’ll ever have were there all along.
