What I Didn't Know I Needed: God’s Provision for Every Season by Linda L. Kruschke
It was June 1985. All I wanted—all I thought I needed—was a break from twelve-hour days inching a massive combine up and down rows of pea vines in the hot, dry Walla Walla sun. I needed a night out dancing with my best friend, Gail.
We got dressed up in black pumps with lacy anklets. I wore a knee-length off-white skirt and a sleeveless violet top with a white lace collar. Gail wore a flirtatious blue and yellow sundress she had sewn herself.
When I met Randy at JD’s on the Green, I wouldn't call it love at first sight. At least not for me. I'd been hurt too many times to give away my heart so quickly. But he was nice, polite, and 80s-rock-star cute. So I agreed to an official first date the following week.
On the other hand, he told his Grandma Ruth, “I met the woman I’m going to marry” when he asked to borrow her Buick for our date. He didn't think his Toyota would make the right second impression.
It Almost Didn’t Happen.
We scheduled our first date for a Wednesday evening, a workday for me. But I wouldn’t get another day off until the harvest was done and I was unemployed.
When my crew finished the Wednesday shift shortly before 5:30 p.m., I parked my combine and hopped off to go to the bathroom. (And no, there was no Porta Potty). I was about to climb back on when Gary, the head mechanic and crew leader, came to tell me we were moving the combines to another field before we could go home. Normally we moved to a new field in the morning. That meant another hour of work minimum. The top highway speed for a combine is seventeen miles per hour, but we rarely did over six. I would miss my date.
Randy lived in Kennewick. That’s all I knew. I had no way to get a hold of him, no number to call. I imagined him showing up at my house and finding it empty. How long might he wait? Not long if he assumed I stood him up or gave him a fake address. I’d never see him again.
Why did I let this upset me? Though I barely knew the guy, I felt like I’d lost my grandmother’s heirloom ring. Like someone had stolen my last chance at fame and fortune. Tears blurred my vision as I jumped on my rig and tore across the field toward the line of other combines.
Gary barreled toward me, waving his arms like a madman, “Stop. Stop! Get off the combine.”
I reached for the brake. It was already set. In my distraction, I had forgotten to take it off before hitting the accelerator. Flames shot out of the massive machine. I’d burned up the brakes. Oops.
It turns out we weren’t moving the combines after all. Gary found out about my date and thought it would be hilarious to let me think I would miss it.
The joke was on him. He had to stay late to fix my damaged pea picker. I enjoyed a delightful first date that began with a beautiful bunch of white daisies.
Randy and I dated that summer and all through my senior year of college. Then, in the spring, he asked me to marry him. I said yes.
Wedding Plans and Waning Bliss
When it came to wedding plans, Randy and I agreed on simple and inexpensive. We did not, however, skimp on the fun. Randy spent hours creating mixtapes of our favorite danceable tunes. The wedding was memorable. The reception—filled with family and friends, trays of delicious food lovingly prepared, and an awesome dance floor—was a blast. We followed it up with a honeymoon at Expo86 in the beautiful city of Vancouver, B.C.
With such a wonderful start, you might expect me to say we lived happily ever after. But I brought into our marriage secrets I thought I’d long since buried. Not even a steel crypt could keep those secrets from leaking out and poisoning my heart.
When I wrote earlier that I’d been hurt too many times, that was an understatement. My past didn’t involve a few garden-variety teen break-ups. That I could have easily moved on from. My past included being raped by my first boyfriend at fourteen years old and that, sadly, wasn’t my only sexual assault during my teenage years.
Randy knew none of my secrets before we were married. By our first anniversary, he knew something was wrong, but I kept the specifics to myself, leaving him to wonder in bewilderment where this angry and depressed woman had come from and where his happy, loving wife had gone.
It took a decade and many ups and downs before I found healing from the trauma I’d experienced before I knew Randy. As hard as it must have been for him, he stayed with me. He never lost hope, even when I did. He provided a shoulder to cry on. He is the reason I had a roof over my head and food to eat when depression kept me from gainful employment.
Did divorce ever cross his mind? I doubt it. That’s not the kind of man he is. Nevertheless, we vowed for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health. He took those vows seriously and stuck with me in my darkest pit. As I descended ever deeper into my darkness, he held my hand and pulled me ever toward the light.
Eventually, the light of God prevailed. In Randy, God provided the perfect relationship for me to heal in His time. He gave me Randy as a safe place to grieve and process the trauma that would never have healed while buried.
This year it will be thirty-five years since we said: “I do.” Recalling the years, I am astounded by how God provided exactly the husband I needed for the long road ahead. I could fill a library with stories of all the ways Randy has been God’s perfect provision. But sometimes, a few carefully chosen examples of answered prayer are all that’s needed.
Losing Loved Ones
We’d been married just over a year when my mother lost her battle with colon cancer. Six years later, my dad died too of lung cancer. My dad’s death devastated me because I had purchased a ticket to visit him in Palm Springs, but my planned arrival was too late. So Randy contacted the airlines to transfer my ticket to an earlier flight to get to my family. When that airline wouldn’t offer a bereavement fare, he found me on another airline for the next day.
I have since experienced the death of all of my dad’s sisters and lost two of my three sisters to cancer. Every time, Randy has been there to provide whatever I needed—a shoulder to cry on, encouragement to go where I needed to be, space to grieve.
Life and death are hard, but through all the challenges I’ve faced over the past thirty-five years, Randy has been my haven.
Holding My Hand
The year I turned 50, we planned a trip to Maui. I felt a strong desire to snorkel so that I could witness the beauty of God’s underwater creation. I knew it would take more courage than I have on my own to overcome a decades-long fear of water.
I asked several groups of friends to pray specifically that I would overcome my fear and snorkel. I, too, prayed God would give me the courage to experience a successful and enjoyable snorkeling adventure.
God is good. He answered that prayer in ways I never imagined. In fact, I realized afterward that He had begun answering that prayer the night I met Randy.
God knew I would need more than courage—I would need encouragement and someone to hold my hand through the experience.
I started in the hotel pool with rented snorkeling equipment, including prescription goggles, so I could actually see. Randy’s patience and encouragement as he sat relaxing in the lounge chair by the pool allowed me to relax. Once I had mastered the ability to put my face in the water and breathe through the snorkel, we ventured out to Black Rock just down the beach from our hotel. As we first began to snorkel, Randy literally held my hand, and we paddled around together, looking at the fish. When I got water in my snorkel, became frustrated, and wanted to quit for the day, he didn’t give me a hard time but got out of the water with me even though he would have loved to snorkel longer.
Although it was a short snorkel that first day, we snorkeled three more times during the week. As long as I needed him to, Randy held my hand. He provided what I needed to snorkel with confidence and joy.
It’s the Little Things
I am a terrible housekeeper. I identify with Mary in the Bible much more than her sister Martha. Given a choice between mopping floors and reading my Bible, I’ll choose the latter every time. I’d also rather be writing than washing dishes.
A couple of years ago, Randy retired after thirty-two years as a U.S. Postal Service letter carrier. I continued working at my full-time job and also writing in my spare time. Many people asked me if I’d made a honey-do list to keep him busy. I would smile and reply that it wasn’t necessary.
Randy has thoroughly enjoyed his favorite pastimes of disc golf and hanging out with our dog in his retirement. But he has also taken on many responsibilities that we used to share.
He grocery shops, taking advantage of coupons and weekly sales to keep our cupboards and freezer stocked with my favorite foods. He mops, vacuums, and makes sure there are always clean towels in the bathroom cabinet. He often cooks dinner or serves as my sous-chef, chopping vegetables to whip up one of my signature dishes. Then he does all the dishes too.
Because of all the little things he does around our house, the time I spend shopping and cleaning is freed up to write when my workday is done. So in this season in which I am trying to build my writing ministry, God provided the perfect husband to make it possible.
Peace in the Garden
This past year of the coronavirus pandemic has been stressful for many. My whole company has been mostly working from home for over a year. But because of Randy, I have been blessed despite the stress.
I find immense peace from flowers, one of God’s greatest creations. I don’t have to go far to enjoy them. Randy works tirelessly in our yard, cultivating various bulbs, perennials, flowering bushes, and my favorite annual lovelies. In summer, as the rains subside, he waters our garden every day. When a neighbor offered over one hundred pavers free for the taking, Randy set to work creating a walkway on the side of the house that had been dirt.
Whenever I need a break, I stroll around the house on the continuous pathway. First, I see pink heather, red and white tulips, purple crocus, and fragrant lilacs in early spring. Next, come the irises, my favorite, in deep purple, white, and garnet. As summer approaches, colors explode as lavender, red dahlia, tangerine daisies, pink azalea, bleeding hearts, peach roses, and more bloom. Then come the many plants he has wintered over in his greenhouse, the color-changing lantana, white heliotrope, and pink and purple verbena.
I’m sure I’ve left out quite a few of the beautiful blooms Randy grows—just for me. Through him, God has provided me with peace in a garden oasis.
And when the perennials lie dormant in the ground, and he has pruned back the bushes to prepare for the following spring, Randy blesses me with beautiful bouquets to brighten the house during the dark days of winter.
At 21, I didn’t know what I needed. But, on the other hand, God had the big picture in view and provided the husband I didn't know I needed to live the abundant life He promised.
Linda L. Kruschke is a recovering lawyer and sexual assault survivor. She writes candid memoirs, fearless poetry and delves into hard issues others tend to avoid. She aspires to show women that God’s redemption and healing are just a story away. She is the author of two self-published poetry books, Light in My Darkness: Poems of Hope for the Brokenhearted and Rejoice! Rejoice! Poems for the Holidays, available on Amazon. She blogs at AnotherFearlessYear.net, AnchoredVoices.com, and BrokenBelievers.com, and has been published in Fathom Magazine, The Christian Journal, Bible Advocate, iBelieve.com, WeToo.org blog, The Mighty, the compilation titled Life, Repurposed, and several anthologies. She is editor of Swallow’s Nest poetry journal of Oregon Christian Writers.