Long before l married, I knew the importance of reading the signs of your spouse. Wise is the man who learns the nonverbal language of his wife, who notes the nod and discerns the gestures. It’s not just what is said, but how. It’s not just how, but when. It’s not just when, but where. Good husbanding is good decoding. You’ve got to read the signs.

I thought I was doing a pretty good job that weekend in Miami. Just a few months into our marriage we were hosting company in our apartment. I’d invited a Sunday guest speaker to stay with us on Saturday night. Risky move on my part since this man wasn’t a college chum; he was an older, distinguished professor. Not just any professor, but a specialist in family relations. Gulp! Our new family was going to host a family specialist!

When Denalyn heard the news, she gave me a sign, a verbal sign: “We better clean the apartment.” On Friday night she issued a second sign, a nonverbal sign. She got down on her knees and began scrubbing the kitchen floor. Much to my credit, I put the two signs together and got the message and got off the couch.

“What can I do to help?” I thought. Never one to tackle the simple jobs, I passed on dusting and vacuuming and looked for a more challenging task. After a diligent search, I thought of the perfect one. I would fill a picture frame with pictures. One of our wedding gifts was a collage picture frame. We hadn’t even unpacked it, much less filled it. But all that would change tonight.

So I got to work. With Denalyn scrubbing floors behind me and an unmade bed beside me, I dumped a shoebox of photos in front of me and started to assemble the pictures. (I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I would have told the guest, “Hey, step over the laundry on the floor and look at our photo collection.”)

I had missed the message. When Denalyn, with a chill in her voice that would have frozen perdition, asked me what I was doing, I still missed the message. “Just making a collage of pictures,” I replied joyfully. For the next half-hour or so, she didn’t speak. No problem. I assumed she was praying, thanking God for such a thoughtful mate. I imagined her thinking, “Maybe he’ll work on our scrapbook next.”

But such were not her thoughts. My first clue that something was wrong was her final pronouncement of the evening. Having single-handedly cleaned the entire apartment, she announced, “I’m going to bed. I’m very upset. Tomorrow morning I will tell you why.”

Duh.

Sometimes we miss the signs. (Even now some good-hearted, yet clueless male reader is wondering, “Why was she upset?” You’ll learn, my friend. You’ll learn.)

The framer of our destiny is familiar with our denseness. God knows we sometimes miss the signs. Maybe that’s why he has given us so many.

He Chose The Nails, p. 39 – 40. Copyright. W Publishing, 2000, Max Lucado. Used by permission.