Four weeks ago I had some chest pains. Serious enough for me to inform my wife. Why did I do that? Of course her first response was that I needed to go see a doctor. Y’all know how men are though—especially black men. We don’t like going to the doctor. It’s not exactly how we want to spend our Saturday mornings. Besides, UGA Football was only a few hours away. No way I was going to miss my Dawgs. She tried everything to get me to go. She threatened to call my mom. She told me how short the visit would be, since it was an urgent care facility. I could get in and out without missing a snap. But nothing had a bigger impact than what happened next.
She cried. She cried because she didn’t want to see her husband in pain. She cried because chest pain could have meant heart issues. She cried because it could have led to more serious health issues. I can’t stand the idea of losing you. Please go. For me.
UGA football didn’t matter any more. She confirmed what I’d known since the moment I met her. My potential heart issue revealed her heart for me. Those tears might as well have been drops of honey. That’s one of the many reasons I love her. She cares for me more deeply than any other human on this planet. That’s what any man looks for in a wife.
Something else I love? I love the fact that I’m slowly becoming a “trophy husband”. As many of you know, I traveled to Houston Saturday to attend the Black Weblog Awards and won the “Best Faith-Based Blog” Award. And my wife was at my side. But Friday night, the roles were reversed. My wife is the executive director of a great non-profit in Bangor, Michigan. It’s a summer camp for urban kids from Chicago and Detroit that gives those kids the opportunity to experience things they might not otherwise experience—including encountering Jesus.
On Friday, we attended a Christian Community Development Association (CCDA) event. I wasn’t Brother Preacher at that event. I wasn’t managing editor of various Christian publications. I wasn’t a faith-based blog finalist. Nope. That night, I was Sheridan’s husband. And I’m okay with that! Because I’m set on fully supporting my wife in her role. And sometimes that means stepping back and saying, Hi, I’m Sheridan’s husband, John. It’s one thing to say you support your spouse, but better when you demonstrate it. That’s what I set out to do at that event.
And let’s be honest. I saw this coming. I mean, my own nieces greet us like this: Hey Auntie Sheridan!!!!!…Oh, hey uncle. My mom calls her more than she calls me. Just yesterday, my co-worker saw the above picture and said, Wow, Sheridan looks amazing. Ummmm, what about me? She tried to clean it up, but it was too late. Her words reflect a reality that I absolutely love. I have an amazing wife. People quote Proverbs 18:22, but never really stop to think what it means to have found a great wife. It means God has favored me. That’s what it means. And He didn’t apologize about lavishing such a beautiful gift on me—His adopted son. As I sat at that table Friday night and watched my wife network, I chuckled to myself. Though the roles would reverse the next night, I was content with who I was that night—the trophy husband.