I’ve already mentioned that over time I’ve become a night owl. (There’s a new thing happening with my schedule, but I’ll tell you about that another time). Getting up in the mornings isn’t too bad, but I have a few rules that must be followed if my family wants to start the day off cheerfully and if I don’t want to be wallowing in self-inflicted guilt.

1. Pretend you don’t see me walking thru the room until I’ve been awake for at least 15 minutes.

2. Do not ask me what is for breakfast during that 15 minutes.

3. Do not ask me anything during that 15 minutes.

4. Do not even look at me during that 15 minutes.

5. Do not get between me and the bathroom.

After I’ve had that little bit of time, I can generally respond to my family in a tone that tells them I’m glad they are still here this morning.

So a couple weeks ago, Tim calls me. I’m still in bed. Still asleep. The phone rings, and I was able to pick it up and punch “talk”. When I say punch, I mean punch.

“Hi Sweetie. You still in bed?” Tim’s voice is much too cheerful.

 Did he just ask me a question?? I feel a grumble starting in my tummy.

“Yes,” I mumble. If it had been a few hours later, I would have gone thru the litany of why I was still in bed, listing the hours that Abraham (9 months) had wakened, and giving the details of what time he nursed and how long or whether he played and, again, for how long…the kind of mind-numbing details that turn Tim’s mind from my sleeping late to “How can I make her stop?!” and frantically searching for another subject, any subject, anything to make these details stop!

But I didn’t have the brain power for it, seeing as how I had barely begun my 15 minutes.

“Hey. I’ve got some things I need you to do for me today,” Tim said. He can talk instead of mumble because he is usually up and out by 5.30. By choice. He doesn’t have to be at work till 8 or so. But he is still up and around and usually out of the house long before then.

“Do?” I mumbled. “Look. Can you call me back after I’ve had time to wake up?”

“Sweetie, it’s 8 o’clock,” Tim said. “The kids are going to be getting up, they need breakfast, you’ve got school…”

“Abraham isn’t up,” I mumbled. Then I heard a little “huh?” type voice next to me on the bed, and said, “Well, he wasn’t up. The phone must have woken him.” My accusation apparently fell on the ears of one who wasn't interested.

“Tim, this isn’t the best time to be listing all the things I need to do,” I said. “Can I call you back? I just woke up, and I’m not thinking well right now.”

“No. I have a meeting,” he said. “I think part of the reason you and Abe aren’t getting enough sleep is because you are drinking too much caffeine. You need to back off on that.”

I realized I needed to add a sixth rule: Never give me advice in the first 15 minutes.

“Look, this isn’t a good time,” I said. Yes, there was a certain amount of sharpness in my tone, but I can’t remember how much because…I’d rather not.

“You know, Sweetie, I’ve noticed that it’s never a good time to talk to you about these things. There’s a few things that you need to work on to get healthy…for your sake, for mine, and especially for the kids,” Tim said.

“huh-What??!!!” I didn’t say it. But the word was exploding inside my head.

“I’m healthy, Tim. I’m just not awake,” I said, definitely sharp this time.

“No. Too much caffeine. And I’ve noticed that you haven’t been reading the Word much lately. You aren’t exercising, and you are skipping meals and snacking on sweets instead. There‘s a number of things in your life you need to work on.”

He went on to list a few more things that were even more personal to me, and I began to fume. I didn’t even know I could fume in the first 15 minutes. This was a novel experience for me.

“huh-What??!!” I said it this time. I said a few other things, not very nice things, I don’t think, but I can’t remember. I just remember the grumbly in my tummy getting really, really big.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Tim said tersely, and hung up. He forgot his to-do list for me. He must not be happy.

I got out of bed, nursed the baby, changed the baby, took a shower, and came out to a small crowd of children asking, “What’s for breakfast, Mom?” I did my morning chores and we hit school running, and had a fine morning. And all the while, in my head, over and over, I mumbled and muttered “You’re not the boss of me. Huh!”

We’ve been married for a while now, and have learned to dance the dance of authority and submission with a little grace. Tim’s a very authoritative, take charge guy, and over the years he’s mellowed and has salted his authoritative ways with love and sensitivity. I’m an individualist (not a feminist), but over the years I’ve found pleasure and peace in the protection and provision of my husband and learned to like him quite a bit, and, as a result, have mellowed a bit myself. We’ve learned to dance pretty well together.

But this was new stuff. He was digging into things that I really felt were between the Father and I. I mean, I don’t mind talking about this stuff with Tim. But to have him come right out and tell me I have some things to work on in my private, personal areas was really beyond anything I’d ever experienced as his wife. For that matter, as a human being.

Tim called me a little later to give me his to-do list. I listened to him quietly.

Then I said, “Hey, about this morning…”

“Yes?” The terseness was back in his voice. Maybe my tone had been sharper than I’d remembered.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said. “I think I’ve done pretty well with this submission thing. You’ve never had any complaints. Well, not in the last five or six years, anyway. But when you said that stuff to me this morning about me having all these things I need to change, it really riled me. I was pretty angry with you. But I got to thinking about it. I realized that there was a part of me that I reserved as being separate from you. That as long as I did what I should as a wife and mother, that you really had no business digging around in my personal stuff, like what I eat or how much I read the Word.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I’ve been keeping that stuff separate from you. You are a good friend to me to tell me those things, and a really good husband to expect the best in my life, and a really brave individual to tell me stuff like that in the first 15 minutes.

“God made us one. I just didn’t understand the impact of that whole thing. We are really one. I’m going to be TimandShurleen for the rest of my life. And now that I’ve thought it thru, I’m glad.”

I can always tell when Tim is pleased beyond words, because he cannot find words. And he could not find words.

“I love you, Sweetie,” he said.

“I love you too, Mr. Man,” I replied.

We hung up.

And then I noticed Aimee! She had walked in right when Tim called, but I had been so intent on my conversation that it hadn't registered. She had heard the whole conversation. I started to blush. Who wants to show all her warts to her daughter-in-law? Well, I’m ok with showing my warts to my particular daughter-in-law because she's pretty special, but I’d like a chance to prepare first!

“Wow!” she said. “You’re a better woman than I am. If Joshua had called me and told me I had a lot of things I needed to change, I would have been furious!”

“Well,” I very briefly thought of letting it go at that, but I‘ve never been very good at being better than I am. “Well, I was pretty furious.”

We both laughed a bit, and then had a long talk about what “being one” really means. It was good for me. Eye opening. It shouldn’t be, but it’s always a revelation to me when I learn…again…that God means exactly what He says.