You know those people who are just different...abnormal...strange, who don't act and think and speak like everyone else, who don't meet the status quo, who defy social expectations, the awkward...the weirdos?
That's me.
It hit me last weekend. I'm weird. I mean, I've never really "fit in" with the "cool crowd". [Hello - I'm still using the word "cool"...] In high school I had a few popular friends, but they were only my friends when no one else was around. I have a list of humiliating memories [some are more recent than others]. I'm kind of nerdy and awkward...I've know this about myself for awhile now. And, to be honest, I'm really pretty okay with that. I now realize that the whole "fitting in" thing really isn't all it's cracked up to be.
HOWEVER, I was abruptly reminded few days ago, just how weird other people think I am. Ha! Sigh.
It all began at a family gathering. [These sort of revelations often do, I suppose.] My brother-in-law and his girlfriend [who are in their 30's] were sitting in the hot tub. I was sitting at the table on the deck beside them and the conversation began something like this:
His girlfriend: "So...how did you two [my husband and I] meet?"
Okay, so the rest of the conversation is mostly irrelevant to the story...I'll skip the details of our love story for now and cut to the point: I married J. when I was only 19. He was my high-school sweetheart [sort-of]. Really, I adored him from the day I met him and we became best friends who knew we loved each other and planned to marry one day. We didn't "date" like most people date. By the time we were dating we had already talked about marriage. I was 15 when our friendship began. He is four years older.
Alright, you have the basic background. As I'm telling the story to her [who, by the way - I just met], my Mother-in-Law, who is also sitting at the table nearby interjects: "And they didn't have sex until they were married!"
To which my Brother-in-Law bursts out in laughter. His girlfriend glances back and forth between him and I, unsure of what the appropriate response is, and then finally settles for a look of confusion and subtle amusement. "Really?" She asked timidly...as though she were afraid to put me on the spot. Meanwhile, his laughter turns to concern. "Oh wait, is she serious? That's not a joke?" was written all over his eyes.
Mom: "Heather's first kiss was on her wedding day." Then she twirled around to face my 12-year-old niece. "You know the story, right? I tell you about it all the time. Who do your kisses belong to...???"
Embarrassed and slightly annoyed, my niece chanted back: "I know. Jesus."
My brother chuckling again, nervously. His girlfriend is still waiting in bewilderment for an answer. I nod. "It's true." Then excuse myself to check on the oven.
I shuffled into the kitchen, tying to think though the awkwardness of it all. It sounds crazy and weird. I know it does. But it wasn't. I mean, it was because I wanted to kiss him. But it was really special to wait. It was really loving for him to wait for me. I knew he wanted me because he loved ME and everything else was icing on the cake.
No one ever told me that I HAD to wait until we were married to kiss him, or that my kisses belonged to Jesus. I made a commitment in my own heart that I wanted my first kiss to be on my wedding day.
I remember several years before I knew J. very well, another guy I knew had asked me if he could kiss me. I smiled and said, "No." He was surprised. "Why not?" He asked. "You don't like me?"
"No, I do."
"Then...what?"
"Well,...I" I hesitated. I knew it was weird.
"Just tell me..."
By now my cheeks felt hot. "Okay. Um... I kind of want my first kiss to be on my wedding day."
He stared. It was the same look that my brother's girlfriend gave me in the hot tub: bewilderment. "Oh. Huh. [pause] I kind of expected you to tell me you have a boyfriend." I shook my head. There was a long and awkward pause. Then he spoke again, "So...really? You've never been kissed before?"
[Super embarrassed now...] "No."
"Wow. Uh, well, I think that's cool. I mean, I can't do that, but man it really makes me want to kiss you now! You sure you want to wait?"
I laugh and sigh, slightly relieved that he might sort-of understand. "Yeah."
"Okay, then. Sorry, that was um...well...I respect that," he shrugged. "I hope you get that first kiss."
Our friendship quickly changed. He was not at all interested in me anymore. He treated me with a new kind of respect/caution, as though I were an item displayed in a museum, roped off with a "do not touch" sign to be briefly admired and then passed by, and gave his attention to other girls.
Fast forward several years. I am crazy about J. and have not yet told him about the kiss thing. I've been playing the scenario in my head. What will I say? What will I do if he tries to kiss me? Is it even that important to me? What if that's too weird for him? I decided to tell him, but if it was a deal-breaker for him, then I would forget that whole "first kiss on my wedding day" thing - it wasn't worth losing him.
When that moment came, and I thought he might kiss me, I told him. I wanted my first kiss to be on my wedding day, but I understood it that was too weird for him. His expression was intrigue. He thought a moment...a really, really long moment. "I want that for you." He answered. From then on he was as committed to my decision as I was [at times, more committed than I was] and my lips were kissed for the first time when the pastor said, "You may kiss the bride."
Now - full disclosure here people: J. kissed me before we were married. He'd kissed my cheek and my forehead and my hand. But only my husband has ever kissed my lips.
Back to the original story.
So...my Brother-in-Law's girlfriend followed me into the kitchen a few minutes later. "Really?" She asked again. I nodded. "Wow. That is so awesome! I'm jealous. I'm really so jealous."
J. and I talked about it later.
"I don't have any regrets, Heather. Do you?" He asked.
"No." I smile.
No regrets.
Now, just to clarify, I'm not suggesting that others should wait until they are married to kiss, or that I think it is wrong to kiss before you are married.
But that's part of our story. For us, it was a way to love each other. It was a way for him to show me that he loved me for more than just outer beauty and the pleasure I could give him. It was a way for me to show my husband that I respected him and honored him enough to share my beauty and my body only with him. It was really intimate to not kiss. How weird is that?! And now, lucky, lucky me...I get to kiss him all the time.
Maybe I was just young and ignorant, but I never even considered whether we would enjoy having sex once we were married. That just kind of seemed obvious. "Sexual compatibility" didn't ever cross my mind. I loved that man. I knew he loved me. I was incredibly happy holding his hand, being held in his arms. I knew we would enjoy sex with each other. And for us, sex isn't just sex. Yes it is physical and fun; but it's more than that too. Sex is an expression of our commitment and love. It is comfort when we are hurting. It is celebration when we are joyful together. It is intimacy and passion.
I don't know what it is like to sleep with a man and wake up never to see him again. I don't know what it is to share my heart with someone and have them walk away because they became bored of our relationship. I can imagine. And I think it would shatter me.
So, while some might think it strange, or odd, or not believe it is even possible, I'm kind of glad that I'm a weirdo. I am thankful for my husband, who not only accepted my weirdness, but adored it. Here we are 11 years later with no regrets. Our marriage isn't a perfect "happily ever after". But I am really thankful for the love we share, and the story we have to tell - even if it is a little weird.
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Monday, July 30, 2012
Grace.
Grace.
It is my daughter's middle name.
It is what we call the prayer we say before a meal.
It is getting what we don't deserve.
It is unnatural to me.
When that one person who really deserves to be smacked upside the head is hurting - albeit over messes they have created for his/herself - and my response is compassion, that's unnatural. It's not my own "gracious" nature responding to that person. That is the Spirit of a loving God at work in my heart as I open my mouth to speak.
My mind says, "let 'em have it", and my words come out gentle...my heart sympathizes with the remorse and the guilt and the shame. Why? Because I too have fallen short of perfection. I have failed the people I love [and the people I should have loved better]. I have strayed from the path and walked on the proverbial lawn with that huge, prominently displayed "DO NOT WALK ON THE GRASS" sign right in front of me.
I have sinned.
We all have sinned, and don't measure up to the glory that God displays in His character.
Yet, while we were still living in our sin - disregarding the warnings, ignoring our consciences and choosing to do what made us feel good in the moment over what is right and honorable...even in that moment, whatever that moment is for each of us, He still loved us. He still loves you.
And He paid the ultimate price to prove it. The payment for sin is death. That's what our wrongdoing earns us. That's the punishment. He paid it for us. Jesus died in my place, so that I might live.
He loved me, He released me from the hopeless situation I was in, He forgave me. And He continues to show me kindness and patience and gentleness that I do not deserve. He pours out grace in my life - everyday.
And when that one person who I feel really needs a swift kick in the pants calls, and all I can think of is the character of this God I serve, and the extravagant grace that He has shown me, my words come out stronger than I ever thought they could. Because it is so easy to spew out the treatment that people deserve when they have done wrong, but it takes strength and discernment to set aside the rightful hurt that we need to "let out" and instead say what that person needs to hear.
And once we have recognized the grace in our own lives, who are we - really, who are we, not to also respond in grace with one another? It is humbling to acknowledge our sin and our need for forgiveness. It is also so good to be forgiven and it is so healing to love.
Will that person [the one who needs a boot to the butt] continue to make bad decisions?? Guaranteed. And so will I. Maybe not the same decisions, but we both need grace when we recognize our stupidity and want to change. And neither of us deserve it.
It is a gift.
Find someone to give it to. [My guess is, you already know whose name belongs on the tag.] May you recognize the great love that our God and Savior Jesus Christ has extended to us, and be an ambassador of His love to that "Gah!!-Seriously?-What-could-possibly-make-you-think-that's-a-good-idea!!" someone that doesn't deserve it. Because let's face it, that's you and me too sometimes. And, well, He tells us to.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind and all your strength...and love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus summed up every rule with those few words. Love God. Love people.
Be gracious and watch God be glorified in your life - maybe even in that relationship.
I'd love to hear how He uses grace in your lives to do great things...
And I'm going to watch and pray to see how He is glorified in my own situation.
It is my daughter's middle name.
It is what we call the prayer we say before a meal.
It is getting what we don't deserve.
It is unnatural to me.
When that one person who really deserves to be smacked upside the head is hurting - albeit over messes they have created for his/herself - and my response is compassion, that's unnatural. It's not my own "gracious" nature responding to that person. That is the Spirit of a loving God at work in my heart as I open my mouth to speak.
My mind says, "let 'em have it", and my words come out gentle...my heart sympathizes with the remorse and the guilt and the shame. Why? Because I too have fallen short of perfection. I have failed the people I love [and the people I should have loved better]. I have strayed from the path and walked on the proverbial lawn with that huge, prominently displayed "DO NOT WALK ON THE GRASS" sign right in front of me.
I have sinned.
We all have sinned, and don't measure up to the glory that God displays in His character.
Yet, while we were still living in our sin - disregarding the warnings, ignoring our consciences and choosing to do what made us feel good in the moment over what is right and honorable...even in that moment, whatever that moment is for each of us, He still loved us. He still loves you.
And He paid the ultimate price to prove it. The payment for sin is death. That's what our wrongdoing earns us. That's the punishment. He paid it for us. Jesus died in my place, so that I might live.
He loved me, He released me from the hopeless situation I was in, He forgave me. And He continues to show me kindness and patience and gentleness that I do not deserve. He pours out grace in my life - everyday.
And when that one person who I feel really needs a swift kick in the pants calls, and all I can think of is the character of this God I serve, and the extravagant grace that He has shown me, my words come out stronger than I ever thought they could. Because it is so easy to spew out the treatment that people deserve when they have done wrong, but it takes strength and discernment to set aside the rightful hurt that we need to "let out" and instead say what that person needs to hear.
And once we have recognized the grace in our own lives, who are we - really, who are we, not to also respond in grace with one another? It is humbling to acknowledge our sin and our need for forgiveness. It is also so good to be forgiven and it is so healing to love.
Will that person [the one who needs a boot to the butt] continue to make bad decisions?? Guaranteed. And so will I. Maybe not the same decisions, but we both need grace when we recognize our stupidity and want to change. And neither of us deserve it.
It is a gift.
Find someone to give it to. [My guess is, you already know whose name belongs on the tag.] May you recognize the great love that our God and Savior Jesus Christ has extended to us, and be an ambassador of His love to that "Gah!!-Seriously?-What-could-possibly-make-you-think-that's-a-good-idea!!" someone that doesn't deserve it. Because let's face it, that's you and me too sometimes. And, well, He tells us to.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind and all your strength...and love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus summed up every rule with those few words. Love God. Love people.
Be gracious and watch God be glorified in your life - maybe even in that relationship.
I'd love to hear how He uses grace in your lives to do great things...
And I'm going to watch and pray to see how He is glorified in my own situation.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
An Ode to Your Face
Here's to you, babe!
I call it: An Ode to Your Face
*Ahem*
I'd never want to bash
Your wearing of that stache
That is set upon your lips
...and tickles when we kiss
You know I'd love you anyway
But hope that handsome stache will stay
'Cause all the cool kids want mustaches
All the girls bat their eyelashes
Of all the ways men wear face hair
Your stache is best
The end.
[I swear.]
Monday, December 13, 2010
My husband titled this story: "What's That Cop Putting In The Back of His Car?!"
I have a great story for you...
One day [about a few weeks ago] I was standing at the stove in my kitchen cleaning up after dinner, when my husband came home. He stood by me and we chatted briefly about the day, then he blurted out that he had seen something strange on his way home that evening. [It was late by now, around 10:30 or 11:00.]
He continued to explain that he had taken a different route than usual to drive home and went along back roads through a wooded area at the base of a mountainside. As he was driving he came up on two vehicles pulled off the side of the road with their headlights pointing toward the ditch. He slowed down as he approached the scene to see if there may have been an accident or something and find out if anyone needed help. It became apparent once he was a little closer that there had not been any accident, but he recognized that one vehicle was a sheriff’s suv...the other was a civilian car. He also saw two men loading something a couple large objects into the back of the sheriff's vehicle.
At this point in his story I stopped him.
"I don't want to hear about it if it was creepy. Please don't tell me if you saw something I won't be able to handle hearing about."
"No. No, it wasn't creepy."
"Ok, what was it?"
The hesitation in his voice and cautious look on his face put me slightly on edge. It's not often that J. appears to be alarmed or shaken by situations. It was apparent that he was uneasy about telling me what he had witnessed. All sorts of thoughts were flying through my head now.
"What?..."
"Well, I don't know if I can even describe it...."
"What did you see?!"
By now I was definitely getting anxious.
"Do you think you need to report something? Was there a crime going on? What was it?!"
J. took a deep breath, then with a sheepish, semi-embarrassed look on his face he gingerly blurted, "The best way I can describe it is that it looked like they were loading two dinosaur eggs into the back of the sheriff’s suv."
*Insert awkward silence here.*
"Um...dinosaur eggs?" I repeated back slightly amused, to ensure I had heard him correctly.
"Well...[now he appeared to feel very ridiculous, but certain of what he had witnessed]...ya...that's what they looked like. Big, giant eggs...and one of them appeared to be cracked."
"Are you serious?" J. doesn't play practical jokes or make up stories...ever. But I do, so I wondered if maybe he was playing around.
He laughed, and emphatically responded, "Yes! I'm serious. I mean, I'm sure that's not what they were, but that's exactly what they looked like."
We stood there trying to read one another's expressions. He seemed to be searching to see if I actually believed him...and I was wondering if he needed to lie down. [haha]
Finally I broke the silence, "Ok."
We agreed that it was an odd thing to see...and pondered what it might have been...then we went to bed.
For the next day or two we joked about his "dinosaur egg sighting".
Fast forward a couple of days. While sharing dinner with my parents at their house, J. and I were telling his “dinosaur egg” story. As J. described the scene and explained that the objects being loaded appeared to be dinosaur eggs, my mom burst out laughing and said, "Oh yes. That was in the news."
"In the news?" I asked.
"Yes, someone had stolen the dinosaur eggs from the playground and they were recently found in that area."
A local park has some replica dinosaur eggs for children to play in, much like these.
We all had to laugh.
My dear husband's dinosaur egg story was accurate after all! I think he was relieved to find out that he had, in fact, seen what he thought he had seen - and felt quite vindicated.
So, the moral of the story is...
If you see dinosaur eggs...don't try to convince yourself you didn't.
And if your husband tells you he saw them...believe him. ;)
One day [about a few weeks ago] I was standing at the stove in my kitchen cleaning up after dinner, when my husband came home. He stood by me and we chatted briefly about the day, then he blurted out that he had seen something strange on his way home that evening. [It was late by now, around 10:30 or 11:00.]
He continued to explain that he had taken a different route than usual to drive home and went along back roads through a wooded area at the base of a mountainside. As he was driving he came up on two vehicles pulled off the side of the road with their headlights pointing toward the ditch. He slowed down as he approached the scene to see if there may have been an accident or something and find out if anyone needed help. It became apparent once he was a little closer that there had not been any accident, but he recognized that one vehicle was a sheriff’s suv...the other was a civilian car. He also saw two men loading something a couple large objects into the back of the sheriff's vehicle.
At this point in his story I stopped him.
"I don't want to hear about it if it was creepy. Please don't tell me if you saw something I won't be able to handle hearing about."
"No. No, it wasn't creepy."
"Ok, what was it?"
The hesitation in his voice and cautious look on his face put me slightly on edge. It's not often that J. appears to be alarmed or shaken by situations. It was apparent that he was uneasy about telling me what he had witnessed. All sorts of thoughts were flying through my head now.
"What?..."
"Well, I don't know if I can even describe it...."
"What did you see?!"
By now I was definitely getting anxious.
"Do you think you need to report something? Was there a crime going on? What was it?!"
J. took a deep breath, then with a sheepish, semi-embarrassed look on his face he gingerly blurted, "The best way I can describe it is that it looked like they were loading two dinosaur eggs into the back of the sheriff’s suv."
*Insert awkward silence here.*
"Um...dinosaur eggs?" I repeated back slightly amused, to ensure I had heard him correctly.
"Well...[now he appeared to feel very ridiculous, but certain of what he had witnessed]...ya...that's what they looked like. Big, giant eggs...and one of them appeared to be cracked."
"Are you serious?" J. doesn't play practical jokes or make up stories...ever. But I do, so I wondered if maybe he was playing around.
He laughed, and emphatically responded, "Yes! I'm serious. I mean, I'm sure that's not what they were, but that's exactly what they looked like."
We stood there trying to read one another's expressions. He seemed to be searching to see if I actually believed him...and I was wondering if he needed to lie down. [haha]
Finally I broke the silence, "Ok."
We agreed that it was an odd thing to see...and pondered what it might have been...then we went to bed.
For the next day or two we joked about his "dinosaur egg sighting".
Fast forward a couple of days. While sharing dinner with my parents at their house, J. and I were telling his “dinosaur egg” story. As J. described the scene and explained that the objects being loaded appeared to be dinosaur eggs, my mom burst out laughing and said, "Oh yes. That was in the news."
"In the news?" I asked.
"Yes, someone had stolen the dinosaur eggs from the playground and they were recently found in that area."
A local park has some replica dinosaur eggs for children to play in, much like these.
We all had to laugh.
My dear husband's dinosaur egg story was accurate after all! I think he was relieved to find out that he had, in fact, seen what he thought he had seen - and felt quite vindicated.
So, the moral of the story is...
If you see dinosaur eggs...don't try to convince yourself you didn't.
And if your husband tells you he saw them...believe him. ;)
Monday, November 8, 2010
Wounds from a Friend
A friend of mine made an odd comment today that is really bugging me. I wish I could just "let it go", but I can't. My husband encouraged me not to take it personally, but it sort of was. I want to ask her about it, but I know she doesn't handle confrontation well. However, if I don't resolve it, I know it will affect our relationship anyway. Bleh. I dislike these situations. What would you do in a situation like this? Or if you've experienced something similar, did you say something? Did you ignore it and move on? What was the outcome?
I once confronted a friend about some long drawn out issues and it was not received well at all. I never wanted to bring it up in the first place. I knew it would be uncomfortable, although I didn't realize it would end our relationship. I addressed my concerns in the most honest and loving way I knew how...I genuinely loved her dearly. But she was unwilling to acknowledge or admit any wrongdoing...and I was unwilling to invest any more of myself in a friendship that lacked honesty. Here I am, eight years later...still saddened by the memory of our exchange that day.
While truth is beautiful and valuable, it is not always pleasant. Very often, it is not easily expressed - and generally even less easily accepted, especially when it comes to truth about ourselves. While lies and issue-skirting leave a tangled mess for us to forge our way through later on, in a moment of discomfort, humanity tends to favor these over truth. It is much safer to float along the surface than it is to dive a little deeper and risk facing the pressure of a current; so we remain shallow in our relationships.
When my husband and I were "dating" [if you could call our pre-marriage relationship a "dating" relationship], we had been in disagreement over something...I can't even remember what now...and I just shut down. I refused to discuss it, and tuned out what he had to say. After what felt like a very long silent drive back to my parents’ house, he parked the car and looked at me and said to me, "Heather, if this relationship is going to work, you have to learn to communicate. I cannot have a relationship with you if you don't learn how to talk about things. We need to be able to resolve conflict, not ignore it. So, you need to decide to work on this, or I can't continue this relationship."
Um...wow. Those were harsh words for my already wounded spirit to hear.
He was very patient and gracious with me...and continues to be...as I forced myself to talk about difficult things in a healthy way. It was not until after a couple years of marriage that I finally learned how to have an argument without yelling...or storming into another room and slamming the door behind me...or just "checking out" of the conversation and staring off blankly at nothing in an attempt to disengage in the discomfort of our confrontation. He has helped me see the benefit in open communication. And gently forced me to address issues I would have never dealt with apart from his willingness to say the hard things, often making himself vulnerable in the process with phrases like, "How have I contributed to this?" or "If I've done wrong, please tell me, and forgive me."
"An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips." [Proverbs 24:6] This is a verse I often thought of when J. and I were struggling through difficult conversations. He never kissed my lips until the day we were married...and I knew that being honest with him was a way I could love him purely while we were "dating". I know it might sound weird, but honesty is really intimate. I think only my closest friends and family are willing to either ask or answer honest questions. If a stranger says, “Hi, how are you,” the correct answer is always, “Good”; it is not really a genuine question - a brief summary of your current condition would be awkward, and likely unwelcome. By contrast, when someone you trust asks the same question, the answer varies. The question is honest, and so is the reply.
I remember early in our marriage times when he would sit stubbornly and patiently for who even knows how long and wait…wait until I was willing to listen and willing to talk about things. And that was AFTER I had really worked on communicating with him before we got married...can you imagine how poor my conversing skills were prior to his ultimatum?! I was blessed to have been given such a kind and gracious man.
It makes perfect sense that we shirk from the difficult conversations. But, sadly, that keeps us from growing. If I refuse to receive criticism from others, and if I run from correction and refuse to acknowledge my fault and ask forgiveness...how will I ever become better? There is no honesty in a relationship that dances around deep issues. That kind of friendship is cheap. It's easy. I know someone truly loves me when he or she is willing to risk my opinion of them in an effort to help me grow. It's generally pretty obvious when words are spoken with care and concern, vs. a motive of self-assertion and callous fault-finding. The words may sting either way, but wounds from a friend can be trusted...while an enemy multiplies kisses [Proverbs 27:6].
Point being...when you love somebody, you say the hard things when they need to be said. If someone is not that important to you, the risk, the discomfort and uneasiness of confrontation just isn't worth it. Do you have someone in your life that you allow to speak those difficult-to-hear truths into your life? Are you a friend who cares enough to offer loving correction, even when it's not well-received...or easy to give? And are you willing to engage with others in a meaningful way? I've found that many of us [myself included] resist the nitty-gritty of conflict resolution using a wide variety of tactics to dodge the ball and skirt around the issues. And many of us [I'm also guilty here too] have grown so accustomed to shallow interaction, that we don't even realize the hollow state of our relationships.
I still don't know if I will talk with my friend. Not because I am afraid to, I just feel pretty confident it will not end pretty, and wonder if it is even worth it. [Some battles need to be fought, others are less important.] But, the fact that I struggle with whether it's ok to be honest with her or not kind of puts perspective on the depth of our friendship doesn't it?
I once confronted a friend about some long drawn out issues and it was not received well at all. I never wanted to bring it up in the first place. I knew it would be uncomfortable, although I didn't realize it would end our relationship. I addressed my concerns in the most honest and loving way I knew how...I genuinely loved her dearly. But she was unwilling to acknowledge or admit any wrongdoing...and I was unwilling to invest any more of myself in a friendship that lacked honesty. Here I am, eight years later...still saddened by the memory of our exchange that day.
While truth is beautiful and valuable, it is not always pleasant. Very often, it is not easily expressed - and generally even less easily accepted, especially when it comes to truth about ourselves. While lies and issue-skirting leave a tangled mess for us to forge our way through later on, in a moment of discomfort, humanity tends to favor these over truth. It is much safer to float along the surface than it is to dive a little deeper and risk facing the pressure of a current; so we remain shallow in our relationships.
When my husband and I were "dating" [if you could call our pre-marriage relationship a "dating" relationship], we had been in disagreement over something...I can't even remember what now...and I just shut down. I refused to discuss it, and tuned out what he had to say. After what felt like a very long silent drive back to my parents’ house, he parked the car and looked at me and said to me, "Heather, if this relationship is going to work, you have to learn to communicate. I cannot have a relationship with you if you don't learn how to talk about things. We need to be able to resolve conflict, not ignore it. So, you need to decide to work on this, or I can't continue this relationship."
Um...wow. Those were harsh words for my already wounded spirit to hear.
He was very patient and gracious with me...and continues to be...as I forced myself to talk about difficult things in a healthy way. It was not until after a couple years of marriage that I finally learned how to have an argument without yelling...or storming into another room and slamming the door behind me...or just "checking out" of the conversation and staring off blankly at nothing in an attempt to disengage in the discomfort of our confrontation. He has helped me see the benefit in open communication. And gently forced me to address issues I would have never dealt with apart from his willingness to say the hard things, often making himself vulnerable in the process with phrases like, "How have I contributed to this?" or "If I've done wrong, please tell me, and forgive me."
"An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips." [Proverbs 24:6] This is a verse I often thought of when J. and I were struggling through difficult conversations. He never kissed my lips until the day we were married...and I knew that being honest with him was a way I could love him purely while we were "dating". I know it might sound weird, but honesty is really intimate. I think only my closest friends and family are willing to either ask or answer honest questions. If a stranger says, “Hi, how are you,” the correct answer is always, “Good”; it is not really a genuine question - a brief summary of your current condition would be awkward, and likely unwelcome. By contrast, when someone you trust asks the same question, the answer varies. The question is honest, and so is the reply.
I remember early in our marriage times when he would sit stubbornly and patiently for who even knows how long and wait…wait until I was willing to listen and willing to talk about things. And that was AFTER I had really worked on communicating with him before we got married...can you imagine how poor my conversing skills were prior to his ultimatum?! I was blessed to have been given such a kind and gracious man.
It makes perfect sense that we shirk from the difficult conversations. But, sadly, that keeps us from growing. If I refuse to receive criticism from others, and if I run from correction and refuse to acknowledge my fault and ask forgiveness...how will I ever become better? There is no honesty in a relationship that dances around deep issues. That kind of friendship is cheap. It's easy. I know someone truly loves me when he or she is willing to risk my opinion of them in an effort to help me grow. It's generally pretty obvious when words are spoken with care and concern, vs. a motive of self-assertion and callous fault-finding. The words may sting either way, but wounds from a friend can be trusted...while an enemy multiplies kisses [Proverbs 27:6].
Point being...when you love somebody, you say the hard things when they need to be said. If someone is not that important to you, the risk, the discomfort and uneasiness of confrontation just isn't worth it. Do you have someone in your life that you allow to speak those difficult-to-hear truths into your life? Are you a friend who cares enough to offer loving correction, even when it's not well-received...or easy to give? And are you willing to engage with others in a meaningful way? I've found that many of us [myself included] resist the nitty-gritty of conflict resolution using a wide variety of tactics to dodge the ball and skirt around the issues. And many of us [I'm also guilty here too] have grown so accustomed to shallow interaction, that we don't even realize the hollow state of our relationships.
I still don't know if I will talk with my friend. Not because I am afraid to, I just feel pretty confident it will not end pretty, and wonder if it is even worth it. [Some battles need to be fought, others are less important.] But, the fact that I struggle with whether it's ok to be honest with her or not kind of puts perspective on the depth of our friendship doesn't it?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Big Decisions, Turquoise Marble Laminate and Other Mushy Stories
As I sit here staring at the offer on the table before me [quite literally], a flood of memories has rushed into my mind and sentiment fills my heart…suddenly what seems as though it should be joyful and exciting is becoming increasingly melancholy. It’s not that I’m unenthusiastic about the papers lying there…waiting for our signatures…I am excited. My sorrow is at all the memorable moments this sweet little home has been a part of. And as the reality of possibly soon parting with it sinks in, it is a little sad.
I know it’s kind of silly; after all, the house is nothing spectacular. It’s small, it’s old, the floors are slightly uneven…but it is familiar, and comfortable. It is has been home for practically all of my adult life.
As I type here, in the living room, I remember the evening J. proposed to me…right here.
We had the place torn apart. Everything was being remodeled…we gutted the place from one end to the other. Electrical, plumbing…all of it! We had finally arrived at the very exciting point of attaching sheetrock to the walls, and choosing colors, light fixtures, countertop, cabinets…etc.
J. picked me up and our “plan” was to swing by the house to measure something and then head out to the hardware store and decide on lighting. When I stepped inside the house, I realized, the “plan” wasn’t really the “plan”.
A small round wooden two person table was set up in the middle of the living room, surrounded by sheetrock…the bare wood floor exposed with bits of black paper still loosely attached. Rose petals were sprinkled across the unsightly flooring and atop the beautifully arranged dining table. A vase of roses adorned the center of the table. Off to my right, sitting on top of the stove [by “stove”, I do not mean kitchen stove…I mean our heating stove] sat a pot of spaghetti; I later found out he had prepared the pasta himself at his parent’s before driving to my place that night. And soft music gently flowed in from the small bedroom beside us.
He smiled. We had waited a long time – and it felt so much longer to us than it actually was. I remember staring at my ring often throughout the weeks to follow…it was beautiful, and it was mine…from him, what more could I want? That night was like a dream…and here I am today…in the very same place, nearly a decade later…still just as uncertain of what lies ahead, and equally as thankful to know that whatever it may be, we will face the future together.
To my left is the kitchen. I have a clear view of the countertop; I can vividly recall sitting there and crying the first time J. brought me here to see the place. I assure you…it is NOT the same countertop he showed me. It is different, but in the same spot.
The house was a little bit hideous when I first saw it. I exaggerate sometimes, but it really was not attractive…at all. The living room wall was covered in cedar shingles. Gross. Who would cover their wall with roofing?! The carpet smelled. The place was covered in spider webs. I can’t even begin to talk about the bathroom. The dining space was decorated with faux brick wallpaper and a rusted rectangular ummm, well, for the lack of a better term “chandelier” hung about 5 ft from the ground from dirty old metal chains. In the kitchen, all I could even focus my eyes on was the turquoise marble laminate countertop…it was everywhere…and screamed, “Look at me, I’m hideous!” The cabinets were actually ok-ish. They were white, which I love…and hope to someday have white cabinets again…and a few even had glass fronts, which I also love, however, they were painted so thick, they couldn’t even close properly anymore and were old and falling apart.
After J. gave me the “grand tour”, he asked what I thought about the house, and right then I lost it and began bawling. I began to re-think my decision to be seriously involved with this man…how could I possibly live HERE?!
He laughed. It was a kind, “you poor silly girl that I love” sort of a laugh. Then patiently and graciously he explained to me that it was more than what we could even afford and the best of any of the houses he had previously looked at. He convincingly explained that he would “fix it all up” and make it just perfect for me. And being so desperately in love, I choked back the rest of my tears, determined to pretend not to see the horrid turquoise counters anymore, and wishing I had a better imagination, but resigning myself to the fact that I simply did not, I decided I would trust him when he said it could be “fixed up” and “pretty” even.
He definitely followed through. My house isn’t “everything I’ve ever dreamed”, but it has been just perfect for us. It is warm, and inviting…and I am still amazed at what a wonderful job he did making a home for us.
Our yard is full of memories too. It is a big, beautiful yard, fully fenced. J planted a garden off in the corner, where we’ve been growing all kinds of vegetables: beans, zucchini, carrots, squash, and tomatoes. We also grew cilantro and lettuce. Peas are one of our favorites, but sadly, they didn’t produce this year. And we’ve also tried corn, melon and radishes, peppers and strawberries…those too were duds.
Our garage borders the garden and the yard. Along the side bordering our yard, J. planted some ivy we had used to decorate our guest tables at our wedding reception.
This picture was actually taken several years ago...it's grown all the way up now. We weren’t sure if the clippings would take, but now the entire wall is covered in greenery. I am amazed sometimes that those plants have made it so long. A few years they turned brownish in spots and we thought they might die…but they pulled through. It reminds me that our relationship has endured some “dry” seasons…times when life and love were not always as easy as it was when we were younger…but we were determined to love, and here we are.
Or, I think of the day I found out I was pregnant with our first child.
It was an average summer afternoon; the sun beat hot through the passing clouds, the air was a hint thicker with humidity, and the neighborhood was singing with noise. I could hear the train whistle loud and strong as it passed by near our home. The children next door threw their ball back and forth across the yard, occasionally a kid would miss the catch and the fence would tremble and then moan at the impact, like an old man. Our tall walnut tree was full of sound; squirrels chased one another, climbing in circles up her tall, thick branches, and occasionally a bird, perched on an outer limb, sang out some cheerful announcement across the air before stretching her wings and taking flight.
My husband was outside doing something. I’m sure that even if I had asked what he was doing, the explanation of it would cost him more time than it was worth for either of us, but I doubt I bothered to question him. I recall him using a ladder.
I was inside our little bungalow of a home, in the bathroom, off the kitchen [yes, you read that right…you walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom…that arrangement unfortunately could not be efficiently remedied during our remodel] *ahem* there I stood starring at the object before me in disbelief, unable to discern my emotions, unsettled, uncertain and understandably so.
How would I tell him? How could I go and explain this news to the unsuspecting man outside on that ladder? What would I say?
I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I felt a little bit numb, but not so numb that my internal turmoil went unnoticed…just numb enough to no longer notice the dishes in the sink, or to pay much attention to Sobi as she smacked me with her thick, black tail in excitement when I stepped outside.
“Hey, J…could you come here for a minute?” I called out.
“What d’ ya need?” This was his sensitive reply. [He often uses lazy English when he’s focused on a project. I think he inherited it from his dad.]
“I need you.” I answered, vaguely.
“Honey, I’m in the middle of something. What is it - a spider?”
No. It was not a spider. A spider would be easier…simpler, and far less invasive.
“Uh…noooo.” By this point, I had become more than slightly irritated. This was not how I envisioned our conversation going. I’m not certain I had much of a “vision” for the exchange, but I knew that THIS was not it. Why didn’t he just put the hammer down and run over here to squish the assumed spider for me?! Why were we having this dialogue across the yard? Didn’t he know I have something very serious to discuss?!
“Of course not…how could he?” I reasoned with my self. Then I regained my composure and marched down the steps and through the grass to meet him. He obviously wasn’t convinced by the urgency and seriousness in my voice and intended to continue hammering.
Once I finally blurted out the news, pregnancy test in hand, he responded entirely unalarmed, or emotional, “Ha-ha. Funny Heather…” It took some time for me to convince him that I was indeed serious. [Let that be a lesson to you…it’s like a suped-up version of “the boy who cried wolf”. I think I may have played one too many practical jokes on the guy.]
Oh how our world was forever changed!
Now here I sit with not one, but three little ones around me. My son, [the one who rocked our world a bit] is now five, and is sleeping on the floor in the bedroom. My oldest daughter, three years old, is crashed on the couch across from me…and my youngest little love is resting peacefully and happily in my arms.
Our house is full of memories.
Most of them are sweet…a few are agonizing to recall. So, I won’t.
But the beautiful thing about memories is that we don’t have to leave them behind with the house…they are OURS. I am thankful for the moments and years God has given us here. And although, I really do not know what the future holds for us, I know Him who holds it.
And today, instead of looking around me and crying, [like I did when J. first brought me here so many years ago] I will fix my eyes on Him and know that He loves me and regardless of whatever my present or future circumstances may be, He has promised that He would go and prepare a place for me. And because I am so crazy in love with Him, I will determine to ignore whatever “turquoise marble” I may encounter, and trust that He will take care of me. He may just even be able to make something beautiful out of the messy, filthy, ugly – worn out world we each are all too familiar with living in […and contributing to if we are willing to be honest about it].
Not to say I feel like my current situation is a hardship or difficulty, I just know that life isn’t always easy or glamorous; but I get to share it with Him. THAT is worth overlooking life’s “turquoise marble”.
Now enough storytelling, I’m off to crunch some numbers and pray about big decisions to be made…
I know it’s kind of silly; after all, the house is nothing spectacular. It’s small, it’s old, the floors are slightly uneven…but it is familiar, and comfortable. It is has been home for practically all of my adult life.
As I type here, in the living room, I remember the evening J. proposed to me…right here.
We had the place torn apart. Everything was being remodeled…we gutted the place from one end to the other. Electrical, plumbing…all of it! We had finally arrived at the very exciting point of attaching sheetrock to the walls, and choosing colors, light fixtures, countertop, cabinets…etc.
J. picked me up and our “plan” was to swing by the house to measure something and then head out to the hardware store and decide on lighting. When I stepped inside the house, I realized, the “plan” wasn’t really the “plan”.
A small round wooden two person table was set up in the middle of the living room, surrounded by sheetrock…the bare wood floor exposed with bits of black paper still loosely attached. Rose petals were sprinkled across the unsightly flooring and atop the beautifully arranged dining table. A vase of roses adorned the center of the table. Off to my right, sitting on top of the stove [by “stove”, I do not mean kitchen stove…I mean our heating stove] sat a pot of spaghetti; I later found out he had prepared the pasta himself at his parent’s before driving to my place that night. And soft music gently flowed in from the small bedroom beside us.
He smiled. We had waited a long time – and it felt so much longer to us than it actually was. I remember staring at my ring often throughout the weeks to follow…it was beautiful, and it was mine…from him, what more could I want? That night was like a dream…and here I am today…in the very same place, nearly a decade later…still just as uncertain of what lies ahead, and equally as thankful to know that whatever it may be, we will face the future together.
To my left is the kitchen. I have a clear view of the countertop; I can vividly recall sitting there and crying the first time J. brought me here to see the place. I assure you…it is NOT the same countertop he showed me. It is different, but in the same spot.
The house was a little bit hideous when I first saw it. I exaggerate sometimes, but it really was not attractive…at all. The living room wall was covered in cedar shingles. Gross. Who would cover their wall with roofing?! The carpet smelled. The place was covered in spider webs. I can’t even begin to talk about the bathroom. The dining space was decorated with faux brick wallpaper and a rusted rectangular ummm, well, for the lack of a better term “chandelier” hung about 5 ft from the ground from dirty old metal chains. In the kitchen, all I could even focus my eyes on was the turquoise marble laminate countertop…it was everywhere…and screamed, “Look at me, I’m hideous!” The cabinets were actually ok-ish. They were white, which I love…and hope to someday have white cabinets again…and a few even had glass fronts, which I also love, however, they were painted so thick, they couldn’t even close properly anymore and were old and falling apart.
After J. gave me the “grand tour”, he asked what I thought about the house, and right then I lost it and began bawling. I began to re-think my decision to be seriously involved with this man…how could I possibly live HERE?!
He laughed. It was a kind, “you poor silly girl that I love” sort of a laugh. Then patiently and graciously he explained to me that it was more than what we could even afford and the best of any of the houses he had previously looked at. He convincingly explained that he would “fix it all up” and make it just perfect for me. And being so desperately in love, I choked back the rest of my tears, determined to pretend not to see the horrid turquoise counters anymore, and wishing I had a better imagination, but resigning myself to the fact that I simply did not, I decided I would trust him when he said it could be “fixed up” and “pretty” even.
He definitely followed through. My house isn’t “everything I’ve ever dreamed”, but it has been just perfect for us. It is warm, and inviting…and I am still amazed at what a wonderful job he did making a home for us.
Our yard is full of memories too. It is a big, beautiful yard, fully fenced. J planted a garden off in the corner, where we’ve been growing all kinds of vegetables: beans, zucchini, carrots, squash, and tomatoes. We also grew cilantro and lettuce. Peas are one of our favorites, but sadly, they didn’t produce this year. And we’ve also tried corn, melon and radishes, peppers and strawberries…those too were duds.
Our garage borders the garden and the yard. Along the side bordering our yard, J. planted some ivy we had used to decorate our guest tables at our wedding reception.
This picture was actually taken several years ago...it's grown all the way up now. We weren’t sure if the clippings would take, but now the entire wall is covered in greenery. I am amazed sometimes that those plants have made it so long. A few years they turned brownish in spots and we thought they might die…but they pulled through. It reminds me that our relationship has endured some “dry” seasons…times when life and love were not always as easy as it was when we were younger…but we were determined to love, and here we are.
Or, I think of the day I found out I was pregnant with our first child.
It was an average summer afternoon; the sun beat hot through the passing clouds, the air was a hint thicker with humidity, and the neighborhood was singing with noise. I could hear the train whistle loud and strong as it passed by near our home. The children next door threw their ball back and forth across the yard, occasionally a kid would miss the catch and the fence would tremble and then moan at the impact, like an old man. Our tall walnut tree was full of sound; squirrels chased one another, climbing in circles up her tall, thick branches, and occasionally a bird, perched on an outer limb, sang out some cheerful announcement across the air before stretching her wings and taking flight.
My husband was outside doing something. I’m sure that even if I had asked what he was doing, the explanation of it would cost him more time than it was worth for either of us, but I doubt I bothered to question him. I recall him using a ladder.
I was inside our little bungalow of a home, in the bathroom, off the kitchen [yes, you read that right…you walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom…that arrangement unfortunately could not be efficiently remedied during our remodel] *ahem* there I stood starring at the object before me in disbelief, unable to discern my emotions, unsettled, uncertain and understandably so.
How would I tell him? How could I go and explain this news to the unsuspecting man outside on that ladder? What would I say?
I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I felt a little bit numb, but not so numb that my internal turmoil went unnoticed…just numb enough to no longer notice the dishes in the sink, or to pay much attention to Sobi as she smacked me with her thick, black tail in excitement when I stepped outside.
“Hey, J…could you come here for a minute?” I called out.
“What d’ ya need?” This was his sensitive reply. [He often uses lazy English when he’s focused on a project. I think he inherited it from his dad.]
“I need you.” I answered, vaguely.
“Honey, I’m in the middle of something. What is it - a spider?”
No. It was not a spider. A spider would be easier…simpler, and far less invasive.
“Uh…noooo.” By this point, I had become more than slightly irritated. This was not how I envisioned our conversation going. I’m not certain I had much of a “vision” for the exchange, but I knew that THIS was not it. Why didn’t he just put the hammer down and run over here to squish the assumed spider for me?! Why were we having this dialogue across the yard? Didn’t he know I have something very serious to discuss?!
“Of course not…how could he?” I reasoned with my self. Then I regained my composure and marched down the steps and through the grass to meet him. He obviously wasn’t convinced by the urgency and seriousness in my voice and intended to continue hammering.
Once I finally blurted out the news, pregnancy test in hand, he responded entirely unalarmed, or emotional, “Ha-ha. Funny Heather…” It took some time for me to convince him that I was indeed serious. [Let that be a lesson to you…it’s like a suped-up version of “the boy who cried wolf”. I think I may have played one too many practical jokes on the guy.]
Oh how our world was forever changed!
Now here I sit with not one, but three little ones around me. My son, [the one who rocked our world a bit] is now five, and is sleeping on the floor in the bedroom. My oldest daughter, three years old, is crashed on the couch across from me…and my youngest little love is resting peacefully and happily in my arms.
Our house is full of memories.
Most of them are sweet…a few are agonizing to recall. So, I won’t.
But the beautiful thing about memories is that we don’t have to leave them behind with the house…they are OURS. I am thankful for the moments and years God has given us here. And although, I really do not know what the future holds for us, I know Him who holds it.
And today, instead of looking around me and crying, [like I did when J. first brought me here so many years ago] I will fix my eyes on Him and know that He loves me and regardless of whatever my present or future circumstances may be, He has promised that He would go and prepare a place for me. And because I am so crazy in love with Him, I will determine to ignore whatever “turquoise marble” I may encounter, and trust that He will take care of me. He may just even be able to make something beautiful out of the messy, filthy, ugly – worn out world we each are all too familiar with living in […and contributing to if we are willing to be honest about it].
Not to say I feel like my current situation is a hardship or difficulty, I just know that life isn’t always easy or glamorous; but I get to share it with Him. THAT is worth overlooking life’s “turquoise marble”.
Now enough storytelling, I’m off to crunch some numbers and pray about big decisions to be made…
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Number 9
In just a few days my husband and I will celebrate our 9th anniversary. Nine years...how could nine years have flown by so quickly?!
The most memorable part of my wedding to me was not the decorations, or the ceremony or a speech. It was not who was or wasn't there...or being walked down the isle by my dad, or when my groom kissed me for the very first time ever. What I really remember about our wedding day was the emotion I felt that day. I have never felt so abundantly loved. I remember walking away from that celebration feeling overwhelmed by the love so many people had showered on us.
Nine years ago I married my best friend; and together we have lived an adventure. Together we have laughed and together we've wept. Together we have witnessed the miracle of 3 new lives joining our own. Together we have faced life and all of the uncertainty it hurls at us. Together we have been blessed; together we have walked through difficult situations. Together we have both rejoiced and agonized. Together we have grown; older and wiser [and possibly heavier & wider too]. Together we have asked and wrestled with hard questions; many still unanswered. Together we have learned to stand still, and to go. Together we step out into each day unsure what lies ahead, but willing to place our feet on whatever path that God lays out before us to walk down. I am so thankful the Lord has blessed my life with someone I love to share it with.
Although learning to share life with another person is trying for sure at times, I think that truly the most testing moments over these past years [certainly more than 9, we fell in love when I was a girlish 16 years old], have been the times we were not together, but apart. Even as I think back, the hardships of our marriage and our relationship leading up to our marriage were most often ignited by separation; whether physical or emotional, whether intentional or circumstantial. What God has joined together, let no man separate. Life is so much better when there's a shoulder to cry on and an arm to pull me close, even if those tears are caused by the turmoil that can be experienced when we share life so intimately. Mine is a beautiful life, and I am so thankful to be sharing it with my J.
Thank you, my love, for sharing these years with me; for standing beside me; for being my dearest friend. Even in those brief moments when I am uncertain whether I like you or not - I still love you. ;) Thank you for continuing to love me...to lead me...to share this life with me - your love has taught me and blessed me more than I likely even recognize, and certainly more than my simple words can express. Happy [almost] Anniversary, Love!
The most memorable part of my wedding to me was not the decorations, or the ceremony or a speech. It was not who was or wasn't there...or being walked down the isle by my dad, or when my groom kissed me for the very first time ever. What I really remember about our wedding day was the emotion I felt that day. I have never felt so abundantly loved. I remember walking away from that celebration feeling overwhelmed by the love so many people had showered on us.
Nine years ago I married my best friend; and together we have lived an adventure. Together we have laughed and together we've wept. Together we have witnessed the miracle of 3 new lives joining our own. Together we have faced life and all of the uncertainty it hurls at us. Together we have been blessed; together we have walked through difficult situations. Together we have both rejoiced and agonized. Together we have grown; older and wiser [and possibly heavier & wider too]. Together we have asked and wrestled with hard questions; many still unanswered. Together we have learned to stand still, and to go. Together we step out into each day unsure what lies ahead, but willing to place our feet on whatever path that God lays out before us to walk down. I am so thankful the Lord has blessed my life with someone I love to share it with.
Although learning to share life with another person is trying for sure at times, I think that truly the most testing moments over these past years [certainly more than 9, we fell in love when I was a girlish 16 years old], have been the times we were not together, but apart. Even as I think back, the hardships of our marriage and our relationship leading up to our marriage were most often ignited by separation; whether physical or emotional, whether intentional or circumstantial. What God has joined together, let no man separate. Life is so much better when there's a shoulder to cry on and an arm to pull me close, even if those tears are caused by the turmoil that can be experienced when we share life so intimately. Mine is a beautiful life, and I am so thankful to be sharing it with my J.
Thank you, my love, for sharing these years with me; for standing beside me; for being my dearest friend. Even in those brief moments when I am uncertain whether I like you or not - I still love you. ;) Thank you for continuing to love me...to lead me...to share this life with me - your love has taught me and blessed me more than I likely even recognize, and certainly more than my simple words can express. Happy [almost] Anniversary, Love!
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