Earlier in our marriage we lived near an older couple. I pegged them as somewhat ornery, though the truth is it was mostly her. She seemed quick to find fault, and when I could I avoided her altogether.

 

I have been thinking of them, and noticed perhaps for the first time how remarkable he was. While my attention was usually focused on the wife, with some surprise I turned the axis of my memory toward the husband. There were times when she nagged, or corrected, or interrupted, but he did not seem ruffled by it. He was unfailingly appreciative of her meals, and mothering, and the way she enriched his life. I stared at the shadows, while he saw the light. 

 

I called up conversations from the past, and rather than finding evidence for my opinion I began to be curious. Why was I overly protective of someone who did not seem to take the accusations seriously? He embodied that quality I aspire to, which is to resist taking things personally. Maybe her jabs at him were less about him than they were about her. I think he understood that. Such loftiness afforded him leeway for compassion. He was committed to her, and was not scared off by her barbs. 

 

I remember a funny, or perhaps not so funny scene in a cartoon. An angry child is throwing punches, but the father has his hand firmly planted on his son's forehead. Because of the length of his strong arm, none of the intended pain reaches him. Eventually the son is exhausted, and gives up the fight. 

 

The greatest Father I know takes a lot of punches. He is the target of blame, and resentment. Yet it does nothing to diminish His love for us.