The Writing On The Wall

As I go about my day, I find comfort in my home, for my home is a connection to my husband. Yes, it is where my computer is, so I have my literal connection to my husband, but just as important are all the memories and reminders of him—us—that fill its walls and surround me.

In our bedroom, his dresser is still the same. His bottle of cologne and a set of keys sit next to a knight in shining armor statue that I got him for our anniversary one year. A few coins lay in a heap as if he just tossed them up there while emptying his pockets. In truth, they were tossed up there by him, but now each time I dust, I try to put them back in the same way he left them. His flannel shirt still casually hangs from my quilt rack. I used to hate it when he would hang his clothes on it, but now I wouldn’t move that shirt if you paid me.

In my kitchen I marvel at the beautiful wood floors he laid down for me. In six rooms, he sanded and stained the original wood floors. In the dining room and kitchen he installed each board and nailed it in by hand. He used old fashioned peg-like nails so it would look vintage. He didn’t miss a detail. I remember how hard he worked to have them done before he deployed.

As our boys run around the house, I see him in each one. A couple have very distinct physical similarities, but in each one, there is no mistaking the outstanding character traits he has instilled in them. I see my husband everywhere, the curtains we picked out, the pictures of us smiling with my head on his shoulder, our coffee pot (we love trying out different flavored coffees), the seashells we have collected and saved, our old pinball machine (we did our good cop/ bad cop routine to negotiate a great bargain from an antiques dealer outside Killeen, Texas).

Everything I see has a story. Everything around me reminds me of him. Each room of my house surrounds me with thoughts and memories of him.

One of my favorite spots, though, is my shower. That is where I start my day. Each morning, as the warm water begins to wash over me and the shower fills with steam, I glance over to see a big

I Y U

begin to magically appear across the expanse of the glass panel. I cried the first morning I saw my message. Now, most mornings, it simply puts a smile on my face and helps me start out my day with a joyful heart. I love that reminder every morning that, yes, my husband is away, but somewhere “way over there,” he is thinking of me, too. I also love that he thought up to do that in the first place.

Dixie Carter once said, “It takes a mighty good man to be better than no man at all.” I praise God for my good man.

My one dilemma though—can I actually go seven months without cleaning my shower’s glass panels? I don’t want to wash my message away.