Wife Rule #164: Appreciate Leftovers

Leftovers

Looks like leftovers are the menu again
Even though I vowed it would never so be.
When we were first married, when we first began
I hoped only to serve you the best of me.

But years have passed, and things have come
That complicate what once was simple bliss.
Pining for more, we added first one,
Then two, three, and four, then five, then six.

Now we live among whirlwinds that give us a mess;
Stuff clutters our floors, our rooms, and our days.
It’s mostly good stuff: but like all excess
Even good things sometimes can quench the sun’s rays.

Is the simple life found in lessons, in teams?
In recitals and concerts, in seeing them grow?
In a calendar stuffed full and bursting at seams?
In careers, volunteering, and serving them? No!

Not simple; but life--even if barely so.
To help us keep balance we cherish our dates;
We talk late at night; and we plow and we hoe
Side by side if we can; we’re still perfect mates.

And leftovers seem to be all that is left
So often when darkness has stolen the day
And we find ourselves breathless, collapsed and bereft,
In a heap on the bed, barely able to lay,

And you look at me, tired, but with a soft smile
And you whisper sweet words and a few “I love you’s”
And I reach out for you, while you reach for a pen
To add something to tomorrow’s unending TODO’s.

So we get leftovers: You get leftover me.
I get leftover you. But one thing is still sure.
Amidst all we give, where the well runs most deep,
New water flows in; we give, yet we get more:

For in serving the Master who truly gave all,
He gives us this promise: “Thy gold I’ll refine.
And when all the dirt, and the dross, and the gall
Are burned up and away, the leftovers are mine.”

So we’ll work, and we’ll serve, and we’ll grow closer yet,
Handing Him all we have: run the race, delay rest;
And when wrinkles and wheezing seem all that we get
We'll look forward to leftovers--He'll give back the best!