I had always noticed this small quirk of his: on weekdays, he’s fully in “get things done” mode. He moves fast, efficient, laser-focused on our tasks, errands, obligations. But when the weekend rolls around, something shifts. He slows down. He lingers. He pauses.
That weekend, we had a long list of errands—groceries, bill payments, bank, hardware store, a dozen small stops. I bristled at it. I assumed he was dawdling, wasting time, strolling when he should be hustling. The to-do list pressed in on me like a weight.
So I marched into the store, intending to prod him into action. Maybe a nudge, a reminder, a little push—something to get us back on track. But when I found him, I stopped cold.
He was standing beside an elderly man, hunched over a list of ingredients. The man looked a bit confused. My husband was reading labels, pulling out numbers, doing math, helping him figure out what volume he needed, what he could mix, what he could substitute. The man couldn’t do it himself anymore—vision failing, memory slipping—and my husband just stepped in.
Then he listened. The old man told stories: about his land outside town, about the garden he once tended, about how those acres had once fed a family. My husband didn’t rush him. He let him linger in memory. He let him tell. He let him feel heard.
I stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching. I’d come in annoyed with the pace, but I realized: this was far more important than checking off errands. This small interaction mattered more than any chore.
I forgot the time crunch. I forgot the agenda. For a few minutes, I simply watched him shine.
That day, I remembered something fundamental: that love sometimes shows itself not in grand gestures, but in small, unnoticed kindnesses. The way he helped that old man—without hesitation, without complaint, without hurry—it revealed something deeper, something generous and patient. It reminded me why I fell for him in the first place.
Maybe on weekends he slows down—maybe intentionally, maybe unconsciously—but I don’t see slowness as weakness anymore. I see it as space for vulnerability, for empathy, for connection.
If we all paused a little more, if we all looked up from our lists, if we helped each other with little things, how much lighter the world would feel. I’m so glad I snagged a good one. ❤️