It's the (thought) intent that counts

"Honey, come in here. I have a surprise for you." Dave sounds excited. It is the day before Valentine's Day, so I know he's up to something. A few weeks previous, he had measured my wrist. Sort of a dead giveaway that a bracelet was coming, but I don't let on that I have figured out his secret.

I lay aside the homework assignments I have brought home to grade and head for his office. Dave jumps up from his chair when I enter the room. This is not, mind you, his typical demonstration of respect. I can't help but notice two red boxes resting on his desk. Now I'm excited. Perhaps the bracelet has matching earrings.

"Patty, I have something for you. Stand still."

I do as I am told.

"I'm going to check out your balance. There's a chance you're out of alignment."

I look around the room, just in case I'm in Jiffy Lube by mistake. Nope. Same furniture. Same carpet. Same husband.

"You're going to WHAT?" It's obvious I'm missing something here. What in tarnation does balance have to do with a diamond bracelet? I ask myself.

"You're probably out of balance," he informs me.

Of course I'm out of balance, I think to myself. I'm a high school teacher.

"Is this a Doctor Phil test or something?" I ask. Dave takes a hold of my wrists and pulls my arms straight out. I resemble the letter "T."

"It has nothing to do with your emotional state, Patty. There's a good chance you're out of physical balance."

He is serious.

I become serious right back. He's nuts. Last time I checked, I didn't fall over when I walked. I'm fairly symmetrical. Where THIS concern has come from, I have no idea. I decide my husband has WAY too much time on his hands.

Dave steps back to get a better view. Something is wrong. He turns on his computer to get the step-by-step on what he's missing. Oh, yea. My left foot is supposed to rest alongside my right knee. Dave repositions me. Now I'm a half T, half K.

"Okay, now I'm going to push down on your wrists," Dr. Dave explains, alternating his gaze between me and the computer where the guinea pig (i.e. balancing person) tips to the side when the physical fitness guru presses down on his wrists.

Over my dead body, I tell myself. I focus straight ahead, grit my teeth, and dig my one foot into the carpet. I am NOT going down like that wimpy guy on the screen.

Dave barely touches my arm.

I fall over.

Obviously he's cheating.

"Try again," I tell my husband. "I wasn't concentrating."

Same results.

"You pushed too hard," I tell him.

"Patty, a cotton ball could have had the same effect."

Dave now reaches for one of the boxes, yanks off its lid, and pulls out some sort of a rubber/metal contraption which he proudly stretches onto my wrist.

Looking for the jewels. Nope. No jewels. Just rubber and metal.

By now I'm in shock. I cannot believe I am party to this experiment. For the next thirty minutes I am contorted like a limpy pretzel. First time without the magic bracelet. Second time with it. Dave is determined to justify his purchase.

I am determined to knock his block off.

We are finally exhausted from the physically grueling activity. (It doesn't take much.) We decide to go out to dinner, both of us wearing our balance bracelets (yeah, Dave got himself one, too--second box was for him), just in case eating causes us to fall out of our chairs or something.

But then an amazing thing happens. The whole thing becomes funny. We can't say a sentence without alluding to our balance. From our walk into the restaurant to the food we select, it's all about how much more in line we are. Even finding a good parking spot is attributed to our new wrist gizmos. We are having a blast.

And later that evening it dawns on me. I have totally missed the point of that afternoon and evening with Dave. When I stopped thinking about myself and my expectations, I began to see my husband's heart. I realized that Dave's motive in buying us those balancing bracelets was an honest concern about my health. Because he loves me. He is a coach at heart and had spent considerable time and effort thinking about the physical challenge of good balance and how this gizmo might help. It ended as a joke, the punch line of an ordinary evening turned romantic comedy, but it certainly didn't start with that intent. His motive was sincere.

1 Corinthians 4:5 tells us that God will one day judge our motives. It won't be our behavior as much as it will be the "why" behind our actions. My plastic/metal bracelet is a daily reminder that diamonds aren't a girls' best friend. A good husband, with sincere motives, is. I know. I have a rubber bracelet to prove it.