Gone with the Wind is the best movie of all-time. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen it, as there just aren’t any other movies worth watching. In it, there is a character named “Melanie,” who is as sweet and kind as the day is long. My husband is like Melanie, in that he sees the best in people and is an optimist’s optimist. The sky could be falling, and he’d be happy that at least the creek ain’t rising. He never jumps to negative conclusions about a person’s character. It makes being a good wife pretty easy.

Of course, my husband and I are polar opposites. He says that I’m a pessimist, but I prefer to refer to myself as a realist. One time, we were at a closing, and the seller arrived looking a little disheveled. I immediately whispered to my husband that she was going to rob us blind. (What can I say? Somebody has to make a judgment call.) He replied that I needed to give her the benefit of the doubt. I won’t mention how that situation turned out, but I will say that I haven’t changed my ways. The total depravity of man is a doctrine I hold dear, but only because I possess so much first-hand experience.

Yet, my husband’s optimism and my own realism come together in a long-term vision we both share about our family’s future dinner table. Let me explain. Things can get crazy and wild with five small children underfoot, each of them still not contributing more than they cost in time and energy. One day they will be able to iron a shirt, use the oven, and run an errand, but for now, the bulk of the home labor rests on me.

The Amish have a saying about this division of labor: before the age of seven, children are a cost to the household; between ages 7 and 14, children pull their own weight; and after the age of 14, children contribute positively to the household economy. My oldest son is eight-years-old now, but since he eats so much, I still consider him in the first category. In case you’re keeping score, that leaves our house with two contributors and five consumers.

I cite the Amish example as proof that things will improve, though. It will get better; it will get easier. When the going gets rough, my husband and I will put the kids in bed, and with the house still and quiet, discuss the future. With his optimistic confidence, my husband will relate to me details about our future, and I will grudgingly agree, but only because he uses facts and Bible verses. I hate being outwitted.

The picture, the future hope that we imagine for our family involves our dinner table. It will be full—with people, with noise, with food, with blessing. The table will have grandchildren squished in around it and the chairs will all be too close. There will be plenty of girls to help in the kitchen and energetic boys (trying to be men) to bring in firewood. The candles will drip wax and the dressing will spill, but I will be godly enough by then not to care about the damaged tablecloth. It will be even louder than our current dinner table, but I’ll probably be hard-of-hearing by then anyway.

In the meantime, I work because the day is coming that we will enjoy the fruit of all our labor, not only here but in heaven as well. It is a glorious hope, not over-imagined by my husband’s optimism and not diminished by my ill-tempered realism. I look forward to it with much hope. Imagine that.

Blessed is everyone who fears the LORD,
who walks in his ways!
You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands;
you shall be blessed, and it shall be well with you.
Your wife will be like a fruitful vine
within your house;
your children will be like olive shoots
around your table.
Behold, thus shall the man be blessed
who fears the LORD.
~Psalm 128:1-4