Weighty subjects have filled my column of late.
Vandalism, Robberies, mass shootings, alleged school corruption, and reflections over life and death, suffering and hope, and, the purpose of pain and why God created the cosmos.
I plan to, Lord-willing, continue to pen pieces over similar subjects; and have been reading several books lately, which have been a wellspring of topics for consideration, namely, the book of Mark, various letters of the early church fathers, a book on church history, the Confessions of Saint Augustine, Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World,” Charles Taylor’s, “A Secular Age,” and “The Institutes of the Christian Religion,” by John Calvin, as well as my pastor’s sermon series through 1 and 2 Samuel, along with Leif Enger’s, “Peace Like a River.”
I know, that’s a lot of books. Jesse agrees, and has insisted on perhaps finishing a book before starting a new one. Hopefully, I’ll finish a couple of them soon.
These books are filled with topics both weighty and joyous – they demand my consideration. And, as I wrote last week, I am like Augustine, “who learns as he writes and writes as he learns.” So expect more such pieces in the future.
However, for now I want to spend this column reflecting on the lighter side. Two stories in particular. Both having to do with my bride; both, reminders of how much I love this woman and how much she makes me laugh.
The first tale:
I have to leave my phone outside my work area at L3Harris, so I don’t get to check it much throughout the day.
When I removed my phone from the tray and unlocked it to see a string of texts from Jesse. Two picture texts surrounded one word: “Helllllllp”, with exactly seven “l”s.
Sandwiching the cry for help was one photo of what she thought to be a wasp, which, upon further investigation, thankfully turned out to be a dirt dobber, that had flown from it’s perch on her head to a spot in the kitchen one our beige wall.
The second photo, which caused me to chuckle, was the dirt dobber, this time encased in the plastic microwave food cover our friend Patti Peron had purchased for us as a wedding gift. The food cover was in turn secured to the wall with blue painters tape.
I came home from work to find the bug on display behind its translucent vault. I freed the dobber from its prison and released it out the back door, and returned to Jesse as the hero who saved her from the perilous flying dobber.
The second story dealt with food, namely, hummus. Which, Brad Kellar, if you’re reading, I know you would refer to this as a tale of hummus-ide.
Recently, Jesse said she was going to make homemade hummus with our Ninja we received as a wedding gift.
I came home that day and she leads me to the kitchen. An air pocket had formed in the blender bottle making the hummus, sealing it shut. Hence the reason for her leading me to the kitchen. She pointed to the bottle and asked me to open it.
With pride, I gladly took it from her and tried to twist it with what I thought were my strong hands.
It didn’t budge. I kept trying and it kept staying still. Pride comes before the fall, I think is what it says.
Finally, I turn to the place I know will have the answer: YouTube.
I find a video with just the remedy I need to open it up: put a little water in a pot, heat it up, and place the unopened bottle inside.
I do it. I hear something, as if the air moved inside. It’s ready.
I take it out and begin to twist the lid. It’s still difficult, so I put it next to me while putting more force on it, while also talking to Jesse about her day.
I freeze. Something’s on my face. Blood? Did I just seriously injure myself trying to open a blender filled with homemade hummus?
Thankfully, no. It was just hummus on my face, hummus on my hair, hummus on my clothes, and hummus on the counter, the cabinets, and the floor. Hummus everywhere - except, thankfully, the ceiling.
After making sure I was all right, Jesse looked at me and smiled.
“I made you hummus, dear!”
Stories like these remind me how funny, clumsy, and loving, Jesse can be. And they remind me, once again, how truly blessed I am to call her my bride.
Joseph Hamrick is a semi-professional writer and sometimes thinker. He lives in Commerce and serves as a deacon at Commerce Community Church (C3). He can be reached at email@example.com.