“Maybe God is punishing us,” my husband said and once again I envied him a bit.
Twenty years earlier I had followed him in the bedroom a few minutes after he had just gone to bed. I had an idea and needed to tell him right away. I opened our bedroom door and shared the result of my brainstorm with him. I didn’t get an answer. I whispered his name, wanted to make sure he was still awake. Again, no answer. He completely ignored me, or he had fallen asleep in under two minutes. Then, right when I tried to close the door quietly, willing to wait until the next morning to share whatever I had thought couldn’t wait, I heard him say. “I was praying.”
