Forgiveness in a Pickup Truck

It was a Saturday morning. My kind husband agreed to go with me to pick up something I’d ordered at Home Depot. It wasn’t small and I needed his help to get it into our pickup truck. More than once I’ve wished I was stronger, so I didn’t have to bother him, or more honestly so I didn’t need him.

The day before a conversation with an extended family member left me confused; a swirl of emotions that hadn’t yet been sorted kept me preoccupied and discouraged as we drove to town to get our order. Dennis and I talked a little on the way, but what he did say felt shallow, which I unfairly interpreted as a lack of interest in what I was feeling.