A couple of months ago I made Laura a promise. I don’t remember if it was technically “a promise” or if she asked me not to do something and I agreed — either way, I gave her my word. I said I wouldn’t do something. (The “something” isn’t really the point — but on its own, it would be something more or less morally neutral.)

Friday, I did the “something.” As I was going to do it, I knew I shouldn’t. And after, I wished I hadn’t, and when Laura got home, keeping it from her was killing me.

So I told her.

With good reason, it upset her. A lot.

It was the worst part yet of our fledgling marriage — in a nutshell, crappy.

And I did it to us, by breaking my word. Wow, it hurt and still hurts, knowing that I broke a promise to my wife. It nauseates me, right now, writing about it. I did a wicked thing.

“You lied to me,” she said, her beautiful green eyes so sad and pained. “Please don’t ever lie to me again.”

I objected, at first, but, thinking about it, I knew — I did lie to her. I broke my word.

Because she’s godly, and she loves me, Laura forgave me.

Because he’s awesome and he kept the promise to kill his Son and redeem his people, God forgives me too.

I pray that I will be a man who keeps his promises, as I fall before my God who never lies, while praising his promise-keeping name.