Four a.m., our talking time, rolled around. “You awake?” he whispered.
“Oh yeah.” Alert. Cheerful. Ready to lay some wisdom on him.
He described a challenge with one of his friends. Ahh. Relationships. My area of expertise. The longer he spoke, the more clear the solution became. I held my breath. I planned to insert my counsel as soon as he paused.
A little voice said, “Try listening.”
The advice balloon deflated.
Hubby continued, winding through the tangles of his friendship, until his story ended. In the dark, he couldn’t see my face scrunched up in an effort to keep quiet. He’d asked for my help. Surely he was waiting for my insight. It felt awkward, even rude, to withhold it. He rolled on to his side. The bed squeaked. The furnace kicked on. A dust bunny drifted across the hardwood floor.
An hour later (okay, maybe ten seconds) Hubby said, "Thanks, Honey. After talking this over with you, I know exactly what to do."
Yeah. It was about time he recognized how smart I was.