DOWN HOME: Would the roof leak in the doghouse too?

Thank the good Lord, we don’t own a doghouse. If we did, Joanna might make me spend the night in it.

To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t blame her.

I just got back from a five-day trip, which is a pretty long outing for me. First up was a summit of staff and board leaders from the four news organizations that participate in our New Voice Media partnership—Associated Baptist Press, the Religious Herald from Virginia, Word&Way from Missouri and the Baptist Standard. Immediately after that, Associated Baptist Press held its spring board meeting.

So, I spent five sunny, splendid spring days in Winston-Salem, N.C., where the azaleas bloomed and the tall, tall trees swayed gently in the breeze. Meanwhile, Jo stayed home and endured several days of pouring rain.

Of course, you and she and I know we desperately need rain. Jo’s a Texas woman, and she appreciates the value of spring showers. So, the recent rain (three inches in two days) wouldn’t have bothered Jo all that much.

Except when it rained inside our house.

Unfortunately, a couple of weeks before the recent monsoon, precipitation of another variety pelted our place. Think cold; really cold. About 15 minutes of hail wreaked havoc on our habitat. We’re working to reach an agreement with our insurance appraiser about the extent of the damage to our roof. But we already agree every single vent up there has been whacked.

So, on Monday morning, Jo opened the microwave and found the plate-thingy that spins around full of water. Then came the drip-drip-drip on the stove. After that, she could’ve watered plants inside our enclosed patio.

Why do crises descend disproportionately when I depart?

Back when our girls were little, they could be healthy for months on end. But if I had to go out of town, somebody inevitably got sick. Or the car broke down. Or the dog got out of the fence. Or a plague of locusts descended and ate the brick off the side of our house.

OK, not the locusts. But it always seemed unusual annoyances occured when I was gone.

Wired as I am, I always felt guilty for being gone and leaving Jo with the messes and/or challenges. Even though I was doing my job and where I needed to be, and even though the crises were random and had nothing to do with my absence, they always felt like they were my fault.

Friends say this happens to them, too. It’s kind of like a cosmic mandate of marriage—all hell waits to break loose until one half of the couple travels out of town and absolutely, positively cannot provide aid and comfort.

Fortunately for me, I’ve been married to a strong, godly and forgiving woman for 32 years this month.

I just hope 32 isn’t the doghouse anniversary.