My Husband’s Underwear

Earlier this winter, I was feeling a little bit grumbly about some of my homemaking responsibilities.  I was tired, a little bit frustrated with some out-of-the-home issues, and I was, quite frankly, feeling a little under-appreciated.  As I folded my husband’s clothing, my mind ranted with gripes like, “I bet he won’t even notice that I’ve washed, dried, folded and put away yet another load of his laundry” and “I wonder what it’s like to have clean clothing magically appear in your drawers while you’re at work.”

Pause.

He’s at work while I’m at home.

He’s working away from our family while I am working at home with our family.

My precious, hard-working husband has never complained about the load he carries as the sole breadwinner for our family, and yet I am silently railing against matching and putting away his socks.

I felt ashamed of my selfishness and repented for my ugly attitude, committing to a new perspective–one of gratitude.

As I folded Dave’s whitey-tighties (too much information?) and tucked them in his drawers today, I thanked God for the man that wore them and for the opportunity I had to make sure he had a clean pair each and every day.

It’s amazing how much power there is in giving thanks.

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