My husband wrote me a letter the other night. It happens once every few years when the emotions run so deep they can't be spoken. Insecurity had been plaguing us both.
He was feeling inadequate and I was feeling defensive.
We talked afterwards -- a good long talk with much laughter and little interruption. I'm convinced once again that the truth really does set you free. He said he'd always been jealous of all my guy friends. What guy friends? I haven't spoken to a guy since we got married nearly a decade ago. This apparently was an issue unresolved from our college dating days. I pestered him -- Who? Who were you jealous of? I can't even think of anyone.
He went through every possible person there was for him to be jealous of back in college. It turned out he was mostly despising the "cool, rockin', willing to dye their hair green" guys with whom I could share my music. Dh never was honored as a cool guy amongst his peers.
Then I went through every possible person there was for me to be jealous of back in college. It turned out I was mostly despising the "stable, loving, happy, homemaker" girls with whom nobody argued. I never was honored as a stable girl amongst my peers.
So there it was, all out in the open. And in the end, we laughed at how absurd it was to think that I'd marry anyone that wasn't reliable or that he'd marry anyone that wasn't dramatic.
Even though we're fairly certain we are loved by our spouses, it's always reassurring to know just exactly why.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Reason is my friend.
Letters I've written,
Never meaning to send.
Beauty I'd always missed
With these eyes before,
Just what the truth is
I cant say anymore.
-- Moody Blues, Nights in White Satin
It's pretty bad when you pride yourself on being an honest person and you start singing songs like this one. I'm typically a very honest person, except when I'm lying to myself. I don't even recall ever telling a straight-out lie, ever. You could say I have a bad memory, but my memory is very good, actually. Hey, I remember President Carter, waist-lenght hair, knee-high socks, and pea-green appliances from the 70s, don't I?
I never was good at keeping a poker face. People can see right through me most of the time. Even when I try to hide, I just can't. That's why I was never the best at customer service. If I was having a bad day, it was written all over my face and if I was doing just fine, well, people still thought I was having a bad day, but that's another story. Equanimity is not something I readily strive for, although I'm sure it would do me much good.
Not being enslaved to your passions is true freedom, for sure. I look at the many rock gods who've thrown it all away with drug ODs, cigarette-caused cancer, drinking-caused cancer, heart-brokenness syndrome, bullets to the brain and I have to ask -- Is it worth it to be so emotionally raw all the time? Still, I get conned by this "follow your passion" culture of mine.
I must learn to work with reason. Reason is my friend. Reason IS my friend. Embrace it. Love it. Carry it around where-ever I go. I'll have to play this tape regularly for many years to get the full hang of it, I'm sure.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Struggling
Why does sacrifice have to be the currency heaven?
It's so hard. It's such a...sacrifice. If I do it half-heartedly, does it half count? If I say I'm going to do it and I don't -- no, I know, no credit. If I say forget it and I do it anyway -- yes, I know, full credit despite the original defiance.
I'm a mom. I don't have to ponder these things too long. I have learned to relate to God the Father quite well by now. If I tell my son, pick up all your clothes off the floor, he says "okay," and 10 minutes later, they're all still there -- I'm not happy. In fact, I'm more disappointed at his lack of obedience because now I feel like he lied to me. If I tell him to pick up the clothes, he says I'm busy, and 10 minutes later, they're all picked up -- I'm thoroughly impressed because I know he sacrificed to obey me.
Obedience: immediate, complete, and willing conformity to authority.
So if I dilly dally, pack up before the job's done, or hold a grudge it's not obedience. What is it then? It is going through the motions? Is it attempting to stay out of trouble?
Back to mothering. If I agree with my daughter that she may have ice cream after changing into pajamas and she drags herself up the steps, puts on only her pajama shirt, and whines the whole time -- do I scoop out her reward? No. No, I don't.
Submission: the act of yielding your will to the will of another.
Basically, the act of sacrificing everything I want for what someone else wants. This seems like a lose/win situation. Is it really?
Yielding is something regularly done poorly in the driving world. There are those who completely stop on the onramp -- "Oh, fine. You all just go ahead of me. See if I care. I'm not going to budge now. I don't care if twenty five cars are piling up behind me. You all go on your merry way while I wait for a gap big enough to accelerate up to speed and move on with my life." And there are those who zoom right in without even a swift glance sideways -- "Heck if I'm gonna slow down so you can get ahead of me. I'm on a roll here. There's no stoppin' me now. So what if I push you into the next lane and cause a 10-car pile-up. I need to keep movin', people!"
Obedience and submission -- when done correctly, the world spins a little more smoothly; the ride is not so wobbly. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven" is closer to being fulfilled.
Still, it's tough. No matter how logical it all is to sacrifice, it's still an act akin to grabbing metal skewers and stabbing myself repeatedly in the bosom while wearing a huge smile on my face, saying, "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. Really. It's okay." And then I find myself singing, "Wanna put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin 'round to a beautiful oblivion...." It's hard.
I'm not saying that after a decade of marriage and motherhood I haven't learned the value of sacrifice. I've done it plenty plenty times -- no, not always with a smile on my face, but I did it anyway and it was appreciated. I sacrificed my pursuit of a master's degree. I sacrificed dating my husband (we brought along a three-month-old to our one-year anniversary getaway). I sacrificed sleep and sanity, hygene and hunger relief, freedom to escape for more than two hours and feeling like an attractive woman. I've sacrificed a clean house for teaching my kids at home. I've sacrificed having my body be all mine so that my going-on-31-months-now toddler can continue nursing.
I have sacrificed, people. I'm not saying I'm a self-centered person who isn't bothered by anything anyone else says or does or doesn't do. I love the results of my sacrifices. They've paid off well. I love when others sacrifice for me. It's a language of love.
The problem is, I'm getting a little sick of it! Could this be why Christ chose to have a ministry lasting only 3 years? I'm not saying He was living it up the other 30 years prior to going public. I'm saying it's hard to be in the spotlight all the time, esp. when people know you're trying hard to live your best life. As soon as you start hesitating to follow your own principles, others start in with, "Ah, ah, ah! You said you wanted to be a saint. Saints don't dilly dally. Saints don't pack up before the job's done. Saints don't hold a grudge." Then I want to curse and swear, hit and bite. But I usually sacrifice this urge by grinning weakly and stating, "I'm trying, okay? I'm doing the best I can do right now. Now please would you get the fffffffffflies off the window?" Yes, I just sacrificed there again. Then I comfort myself with people like Padre Pio, the 1960s stigmatist, who said to one of his religious brothers, "Hold up a minute before I hear confessions. I've got to finish this candy. People are gonna say, 'A saint doesn't eat candy' if I go in there before it's done." Intercede for me, Padre P.
I know I've got to finish the race. I know I can fall and head the wrong direction at any point in the journey. I know the evil one is bloodthirsty for my soul. I know I've got to continuously ask for grace. I know. I KNOW. I know. My problem is I know too much about what I'm supposed to do and I don't just do it. My problem is I base too much on emotion and I hate going through the motions. My problem is I'm not quite perfect just yet. But the saints are not people who were always perfect. Saints are people who struggled every single BLESSED day to do what's right: to obey, to submit, to yield. I am struggling. God knows I'm struggling. Heaven help me.
It's so hard. It's such a...sacrifice. If I do it half-heartedly, does it half count? If I say I'm going to do it and I don't -- no, I know, no credit. If I say forget it and I do it anyway -- yes, I know, full credit despite the original defiance.
I'm a mom. I don't have to ponder these things too long. I have learned to relate to God the Father quite well by now. If I tell my son, pick up all your clothes off the floor, he says "okay," and 10 minutes later, they're all still there -- I'm not happy. In fact, I'm more disappointed at his lack of obedience because now I feel like he lied to me. If I tell him to pick up the clothes, he says I'm busy, and 10 minutes later, they're all picked up -- I'm thoroughly impressed because I know he sacrificed to obey me.
Obedience: immediate, complete, and willing conformity to authority.
So if I dilly dally, pack up before the job's done, or hold a grudge it's not obedience. What is it then? It is going through the motions? Is it attempting to stay out of trouble?
Back to mothering. If I agree with my daughter that she may have ice cream after changing into pajamas and she drags herself up the steps, puts on only her pajama shirt, and whines the whole time -- do I scoop out her reward? No. No, I don't.
Submission: the act of yielding your will to the will of another.
Basically, the act of sacrificing everything I want for what someone else wants. This seems like a lose/win situation. Is it really?
Yielding is something regularly done poorly in the driving world. There are those who completely stop on the onramp -- "Oh, fine. You all just go ahead of me. See if I care. I'm not going to budge now. I don't care if twenty five cars are piling up behind me. You all go on your merry way while I wait for a gap big enough to accelerate up to speed and move on with my life." And there are those who zoom right in without even a swift glance sideways -- "Heck if I'm gonna slow down so you can get ahead of me. I'm on a roll here. There's no stoppin' me now. So what if I push you into the next lane and cause a 10-car pile-up. I need to keep movin', people!"
Obedience and submission -- when done correctly, the world spins a little more smoothly; the ride is not so wobbly. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven" is closer to being fulfilled.
Still, it's tough. No matter how logical it all is to sacrifice, it's still an act akin to grabbing metal skewers and stabbing myself repeatedly in the bosom while wearing a huge smile on my face, saying, "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. Really. It's okay." And then I find myself singing, "Wanna put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin 'round to a beautiful oblivion...." It's hard.
I'm not saying that after a decade of marriage and motherhood I haven't learned the value of sacrifice. I've done it plenty plenty times -- no, not always with a smile on my face, but I did it anyway and it was appreciated. I sacrificed my pursuit of a master's degree. I sacrificed dating my husband (we brought along a three-month-old to our one-year anniversary getaway). I sacrificed sleep and sanity, hygene and hunger relief, freedom to escape for more than two hours and feeling like an attractive woman. I've sacrificed a clean house for teaching my kids at home. I've sacrificed having my body be all mine so that my going-on-31-months-now toddler can continue nursing.
I have sacrificed, people. I'm not saying I'm a self-centered person who isn't bothered by anything anyone else says or does or doesn't do. I love the results of my sacrifices. They've paid off well. I love when others sacrifice for me. It's a language of love.
The problem is, I'm getting a little sick of it! Could this be why Christ chose to have a ministry lasting only 3 years? I'm not saying He was living it up the other 30 years prior to going public. I'm saying it's hard to be in the spotlight all the time, esp. when people know you're trying hard to live your best life. As soon as you start hesitating to follow your own principles, others start in with, "Ah, ah, ah! You said you wanted to be a saint. Saints don't dilly dally. Saints don't pack up before the job's done. Saints don't hold a grudge." Then I want to curse and swear, hit and bite. But I usually sacrifice this urge by grinning weakly and stating, "I'm trying, okay? I'm doing the best I can do right now. Now please would you get the fffffffffflies off the window?" Yes, I just sacrificed there again. Then I comfort myself with people like Padre Pio, the 1960s stigmatist, who said to one of his religious brothers, "Hold up a minute before I hear confessions. I've got to finish this candy. People are gonna say, 'A saint doesn't eat candy' if I go in there before it's done." Intercede for me, Padre P.
I know I've got to finish the race. I know I can fall and head the wrong direction at any point in the journey. I know the evil one is bloodthirsty for my soul. I know I've got to continuously ask for grace. I know. I KNOW. I know. My problem is I know too much about what I'm supposed to do and I don't just do it. My problem is I base too much on emotion and I hate going through the motions. My problem is I'm not quite perfect just yet. But the saints are not people who were always perfect. Saints are people who struggled every single BLESSED day to do what's right: to obey, to submit, to yield. I am struggling. God knows I'm struggling. Heaven help me.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Up and Down
One step forward, two steps back. Two steps forward, one step back. Three steps forward, one step back. Alright, alright -- three steps back.
Whenever everything in life starts coming together, it all seems to fall apart again. Life cycles like that.
I've been on a roller-coaster this past month -- a big high and a steep low. Up, up, up -- feeling butterflies in my stomach, grabbing my partner's hand, grinning but clenching my jaw. Down, down, down -- peeling out screams, flinging back my hair, shutting but popping open my eyes.
I got back to family today. Family reminds me where ME all started. Mom was not Mom today. She was Older Sister to my aunt. Auntie was not Auntie today. She was bantering antagonist to Older Sister. I sat in the center, shoulder to shoulder with both of them in the pickup truck. The teasing remarks were flying back and forth between them and I couldn't even join in because my sides were hurting so much from the laughter.
Rollercoasters are thrilling, but family is joyful and always good to come back to after the big ups and downs.
Whenever everything in life starts coming together, it all seems to fall apart again. Life cycles like that.
I've been on a roller-coaster this past month -- a big high and a steep low. Up, up, up -- feeling butterflies in my stomach, grabbing my partner's hand, grinning but clenching my jaw. Down, down, down -- peeling out screams, flinging back my hair, shutting but popping open my eyes.
I got back to family today. Family reminds me where ME all started. Mom was not Mom today. She was Older Sister to my aunt. Auntie was not Auntie today. She was bantering antagonist to Older Sister. I sat in the center, shoulder to shoulder with both of them in the pickup truck. The teasing remarks were flying back and forth between them and I couldn't even join in because my sides were hurting so much from the laughter.
Rollercoasters are thrilling, but family is joyful and always good to come back to after the big ups and downs.
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