How to Cure Stress

If for no other reason than cheap Mexican food, Tuesday is my favorite day of the week. A couple of months ago, we discovered a little restaurant down the road that sells $2 tacos, $2 burritos, and $2 happiness every Tuesday night. And we are there. Every week. Stuffing our faces with beans and cheese and free tortilla chips. And it’s not just because of the food. Although they are generous.

We like to sit out on the deck next to the water. We like looking at the people climbing up Koko Head’s 1,050 steps while we fill our bellies with lard. We like the cheesy paraphernalia on the walls and the ducks that waddle around the table and the bird poop on every chair. We like the excuse to talk to each other without interruption from television commercials or phone calls.

And they know who we are now. We’re regulars. And we have a regular waitress. And she knows I have two black bean burritos, one to eat now and one to box for lunch. She knows that we like a water and a Diet Coke. And she knows that Brandon likes the thick sour creme for his tacos. She even notices when we cut our hair and that we sometimes go running to eat extra tortilla chips.

It has become a highlight of our week.

Last night Brandon was a bit upset on our way to our burritos. Remember this little incident? He had to show up to court early this morning to show his insurance information and receive his official reprimand for breaking the law. I told him it would be okay if he didn’t go because he would get arrested and then I would have something exciting to write about: Pastor Goes to Jail! But he just blinked at me.

Nobody likes to deal with downtown parking and bureaucracy and court and waiting for judgment. So he was just a little depressed, a little stressed, a little burdened. We were trying to figure out the details about getting dropped off to work at 6:45 this morning (UGH!) so he could have the car and get to court by 8:00. Then we entered the great debate about wearing a tie or an aloha shirt and which would be more fitting for a criminal. And by the end of our plans, I think the preoccupation with the whole ordeal was getting to him.

Dinner was coming to a close, and I suddenly had a thought. Earlier in the day, I had read through a list of 101 things my new friend (thank you, Tabitha) wants to do in the next 1001 days. One of the things that kept running through my mind was her idea to tip a waitress at least double the bill for good service. And it stuck with me. So in an attempt to cheer up my poor husband I proposed the idea.

And because my husband’s strength lies in generosity, his whole demeanor changed. He transformed into a different person—the person I fell in love with. He seemed happier. Relieved. Lighter. He was in his element—doing something kind for someone else. It came naturally. Organically, as part of his nature. And as he paid the bill, he did what his kind heart led him to do.

I don’t know the amount he tipped, and it doesn’t really matter. All I know is that we left our favorite place on our favorite day of the week without a thought for the messes we’d have to take care of later. And this begs the point, dear readers, that stepping outside of ourselves can heal the heart of its troubles.

It also begs the point that I am in love with my heaping bags of handsome husband.