The wild rose

The wild rose
Forgive me this blog post, because I want to praise my wife. I know, some of you want to reach for the garbage pail and hurl. But since the not-so-grand genesis of Tell It Slant, I have not once dedicated an entry to her, and she deserves much more. So pull out the Air Sickness bags if you have to, but we’re still going to taxi and take-off.

It was six o’clock on Friday morning, and I was frantically searching through my backpack. I had 25 minutes before United Airlines flight #1106 left Gate 15 of San Diego’s Lindbergh International Airport, but I hadn’t yet gotten in line to pass security. I had been careful to bring my cell phone, Bluetooth earpiece, laptop with an extra battery, iPod, headphones — plus all the corresponding cords and adapters — two books, and even the Holy Bible to travel to the East Coast. (Travel often reminds me how dependent I am on technology — soon I’ll need an bring an adapter to charge up my own body.) I brought everything except the only thing that would keep me from traveling: my wallet.

The truth sinks in, and I’m beating myself up for being so stupid. And if I miss this flight, I’ll be late for the talk I was going to give at Yale Christian Fellowship that night. I wake Jinhee up with a call, and confess my troubles.

In minutes and without complaint, she’s speeding down the 5 and reaches the airport in 15 minutes. It’s not quite fast enough for me to catch the flight, but she’s all smiles through her tired eyes. She says that I would’ve done the same for her. She blesses me to have a great time in New Haven. I’m floored by her grace as she drives away. So as I sat in 18C on the next available flight, I’m almost to tears.

“He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord,” wrote Solomon. Those ancient guys knew what they were talking about. And so do more modern authors, like Wendell Berry, who wrote a poem called “The Wild Rose” for his wife:

Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and in trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart

Suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,

and once again I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.

I’m no poet myself, but once again I am blessed, and I choose again what I chose before.