The Still Small Voice

We had stopped at a rest area on our trip, and since I was in a hurry, I went on ahead of my husband while he was still getting out of the car.  Coming out of the ladies' room a little later, I didn't see him in the reception area, so I busied myself looking at brochures from the racks showing local points of interest.  I kept glancing toward the men's room door so as to catch his eye when he came out.  Time began to go by, and Howard didn't appear.  I looked out the window and saw that he wasn't in the car, so I went outside to sit on the bench to wait for him.  No Howard.

Getting worried by this time, I considered asking someone to check the rest room, as people were going in and coming out every few minutes.  I thought he might be sick or something.  I looked out once more, and saw him coming up the walk.  "Where have you been?" I exclaimed.  "I've been waiting for you to come out!" It seemed like I'd been waiting for a good 10-15 minutes.

"Oh, I've been up on the hill playing the guitar!" he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.  Knowing he hadn't brought a guitar, I waited for more of an explanation.  "I saw this guy sitting at a picnic table and playing the guitar, so I went up and talked to him," he said brightly, "and he let me play the guitar, too!"

"You mean you haven't even been to the rest room yet?" I said incredulously.  I grabbed the keys and headed toward the car.  He had no idea what he'd put me through.  Here I was, with mental images of being stranded in the middle of nowhere with an emergency to deal with, and he'd been blissfully unaware of anything but his own joy in the moment!

It wouldn't have been so bad if I weren't already upset from a phone call we'd just received.  The desk clerk from the motel we'd stayed in over a hundred miles back called saying we'd left something of importance in the room--one of Howard's many briefcases with items of importance inside.

I didn't go to the car, but followed the sloping walk up the hill and sat at a picnic table, giving way to tears of frustration, fatigue and disappointment.  I was mad at myself as much as my husband, because I'd had a feeling I should go back and check the room one more time as I got in the car, and I ignored it.

He had carried out our last bag, and I had assembled the last few small items, including computer, phone charger and small book on the dresser.  I told him that was everything .  But I completely forgot about the leather case I'd had on the nightstand, so he missed getting it.  We made arrangements for its safety with the motel, but I couldn't help my feelings.

My mood lightened the nearer we came to our daughter's house, and I didn't think any more about the incident until I heard Howard talking about it to one of our sons on the phone.  He told with delight all about where the guy was from--the Cumberland Plateau--and any number of fascinating trivia.  Well, he was happy and I was happy to see family, especially dear grandchildren, but I think we both had learned a lesson. He, to be more considerate, and me, to listen to the Holy Spirit when He nudges me to double check on details.