In Sickness and In Health

As I walked up to the kitchen sink this morning, I was taken aback by the number of little plastic cups and fat medicine tubes covering the bottom. I had cleaned everything in the sink before I called it a night, hadn’t I? And almost as soon as I had had the thought, I remembered that Wendy gave Emmett two more rounds of medicine since I had gone to bed, one at two and the other at six a.m. Now, a little after eight, I was adding my contribution to the pile.

I immediately felt a weariness for her, as I realized that ‘catching up’ on housework during Emmett’s chemotherapy weeks wasn’t a realistic possibility. With a bouncing boy demanding her undivided attention when she was home, lesson plans and grading that would start to accumulate as the new semester began, and the typical chores that keep any wife and mother from feeling like she has any free time, Wendy already had a full plate. Add to her schedule doctor’s appointments and middle-of-the-night meds and feedings, and I could only imagine her level of physical fatigue, not to mention emotional and spiritual, as well.

Before I arrived in Nashville for these few days with Wendy and Emmett, my mind began to ponder something Emmett had written earlier.

It was a blessing to get ringside seats at my brothers wedding, but I listened to the exchange of vows with a new perspective on things. “through sickness and through health” took on a new meaning. I was touched by how we pledge through sickness first, which is the hardest time to love, especially when sickness can be so long reaching, and can disrupt things for an incredibly long time. (Emmett 8/3/2010)

I, too, had to taken the vow to love someone in sickness and in health, yet I know now that I had no idea to what I was committing eight years ago.

When I got married, I was under the misconception that if I loved someone with all my heart, promising to nurse him through sickness would come naturally, with a willingness because of that love. As a young woman at just twenty-two, I couldn’t imagine what that kind of sacrifice would entail, but I was sure that my love for Matt would make me better than I am if that time should arise. I realize now that I was wrong. Loving someone doesn’t make me a better person; instead, his love for me gently points out all my imperfections, showing me exactly how far I have to go.

Since I’ve been married and have had children, I have become more acutely aware of the naturally selfish tendencies within me. Yes, I willingly make many sacrifices for my family, but more often than I’d like to admit, I know my mind focuses on the word ‘sacrifice’ instead of seeing my action as an offering of love. And the more Matt and my children love me unconditionally, the more I am aware of my shortcomings.

When I look at Wendy and Emmett and contemplate the words that they share through their own journey, I am inspired. They share so openly and honestly about their own struggles with faith and love, and, at times, I feel ashamed for my own feelings. They are experiencing a hell on earth, yet their focus is to show others a glimpse of heaven. Their trust in Jesus with their lives is amazing, and I want that faith. I want my focus to shift from inward to heavenward so that my life emulates Christ, no matter the circumstance.

I don’t want to be selfish. I want to pray as Wendy prays: Lord, make me more like you, but do it gently, for I am weak (Wendy 8/16/2010). As much as I’d like to think that my love for Matt would enable me to care for him in a time of sickness, I know it is not enough. I know I am weak and that I easily weary. Instead, I need the love of a Savior who illuminates my imperfections and gently carves away at them, filling the void with Him. I need to be filled with more of Him and less of me.

I came here for a few days to offer a hand to Wendy, but instead, she has helped me. She is a beautiful picture of the love of Christ poured out for those He loves. And I pray that as I drive away tomorrow from this family covered in devotion to one another, their example would serve as a reminder for all that I need to allow God to change in me.

Please join me in praying for Wendy and Emmett and their young son Quinn. You can follow their amazing journey of faith through Emmett’s battle with cancer at teamemmett.com.

The M.O.B Society (Mothers of Boys) was also gracious enough to allow me to contribute to their site today. I would love if you would stop by and say ‘hello.’

Remembering

Sometimes it’s easy to forget.

I look across the bed at my husband, tired from a long week at work, and recognize my own weariness. Weariness, a feeling more common than not. Talking has quickly given way to sleep. Who are these two people?

Sometimes I look back at those two people, ten years younger, and try to remember what initially attracted them to one another. It’s difficult to define.

When we were dating, our relationship was defined by doing. Every weekend dinner dates continued an early set tradition. We eagerly anticipated the opening of new movies, and we experienced music flowing through our veins at many concerts. We cheered at baseball games and yelled at football games. And at night, we were able to stay up into the wee hours of the morning talking and laughing until we would go our separate ways, waiting for our next appointed meeting–the sooner the better.

I look at these two people now, how they’ve changed. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. These are not the same two people from before.

Now, our relationship is defined more by being. We exist together for the same common purpose of serving God and our family, but the days of constant doing are few and far between. No longer do we share weekly dinner dates; we share a quiet dinner around the table after the kids are in bed. We don’t anticipate the opening of new movies; instead, we fight sleep on the couch to watch the ones that are now old. The children come along to those rare sporting events; my eyes aren’t on the game but on three little heads constantly moving in different directions.

I look back at those people from ten years ago, and I begin to think that they are more different from us than alike. I wonder would they still find each other attractive if they met for the first time today? Until one night when he opens his computer…

Ten years ago, he sat at his computer. I watched, tired and helpless, as he set margins, changed fonts. He took my words and made them look beautiful. He took my accomplishments and turned me into a professional. He made my first resumé without my asking, as a gift for one he might love, and I secured my first teaching job comfortably before I graduated.

Ten years ago, he sat at his computer. He set margins, changed fonts. I sat downstairs in my apartment, labeling pages, putting them in order, proving to my professors through those words and sample lessons my ability to teach. Together we worked through the night completing this portfolio that encompassed a year’s worth of work and a journey. I didn’t ask for his help, but he volunteered for the one that he loved, and I received an A+, my final task completed before I graduated.

Five days ago he opened his computer. He set margins, changed fonts. He took my ideas and gave them form. I sat at my computer, made changes to my blog, this hobby now a daily part of me. He changed my changes, making them better. He took my words and made them look beautiful, my words that convey a year’s worth of learning, my journey. I didn’t ask for his help, but he worked for this girl that he still loves, his ways not all that different from when she first graduated.

And I know now that the core of these two people is not all that different from those two of ten years ago.

For this Focus on it Friday, I am thankful for a husband who has always wanted me to succeed, who puts aside his time to show me his love. We’ve changed, our relationship has changed, but the heart of the man who loves me is the same. For what this week are you thankful? Share in the comments or provide a link to your own post.

A Tilt of the Head

Last night as I was driving home from a shopping adventure, I peered into the back of the van to see if the kids had fallen asleep, yet. Based on the meltdowns and general unreasonableness, I knew what time it was without seeing a clock and that my kids were through for the day. Sure enough, the kids who had exhibited devilish behavior fifteen minutes prior were now sporting angelic expressions as they breathed in and out, falling deeper and deeper into sleep.

The three of them couldn’t look any more like brother and sister, and I chuckled upon noticing that they all had tilted their heads to the left, no matter their position in the van. I then wondered if Matt slept that way and tried to pull up a picture in my mind of him sleeping in the car. There weren’t many (thank goodness) since he’s normally driving when we’re together. I was pretty sure I naturally tilted my head to the right and wondered if genetics played a role in which way felt more comfortable. After all, all three of them were sleeping the same way, but they didn’t seem to get that preference from me.

And I smiled. This past week my marriage consumed my thoughts–what it means to work together, putting aside our own preferences for the good of each other and our family, finding comfort in the discomfort of life. When I saw those three babies sleeping, I knew they each carried part of me and part of Matt–by the miracle of God, they were from our making. They each would have some of our flaws, I hope, more of our strengths, but within those precious, unique individuals was part of a man and woman who committed to love each other and them for the rest of their lives.

And that love that brought forth this union is beautiful, no matter how ugly life gets.

Each Friday I will write a post reflecting on something specific from the week for which I am grateful. Won’t you join me? Write a comment about something this week for which you are thankful, or provide a link to a post of your own. Let’s end our week together giving thanks.

Peace in Purpose

Crunching numbers that won’t bend. A laptop closes. Quiet tears of frustration on one side, a sigh of resignation on the other. Two bodies lay in a divided space, still and tired.

Throughout the next day, thoughts of each other pass back and forth, amidst dishes and meetings, children and proposals. Two parties carrying their own loads and their common burden, struggling to place it at His feet. And yet, a calm comes.

Pushing back thoughts of the night before, restless fingertips pluck the sheets on one side, a gentle arm reaches on the other. Two bodies embrace in a small space, warm and at peace.

Another crawls atop, coughing and sipping water from his cup, squirming his way into the middle. The two sets of fingertips stretch to touch over the divide. In the morning, tired eyes open, a smile forms. A fourth has included herself in the pretzel of arms and legs.

And another day begins, the burden a little lighter, under the weight of large blessings.

The Master’s Course

Last night I missed my husband and began thinking about our marriage. In two weeks we will be married eight years. Eight years. I tried to think how long eight years really is, and my mind wandered to my college days. I will have been married long enough to get two college degrees.

I remember how I felt when I started college. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up because too many occupations were appealing. I was overwhelmed at the idea of picking a major, and then in four years, acquiring enough knowledge to put into practice what I had learned. I was excited at the possibility of leaving school as a mini-expert in my field (even though I didn’t know what that field was at the time) ready to dive into the career I had chosen and show the world what I had to offer.

Except it didn’t happen that way. When I graduated with my degree in Education, I quickly realized I didn’t know nearly what I thought I would upon graduation. Yes, I left school with a fire, a passion for changing the world one student at a time, a healthy idealism that all new teachers should have, but I only had the beginning of knowledge in my field.

As a literature teacher, I had many classics still unread, grammar lessons unpolished, and classroom management techniques and organizational skills still to be discovered. I had just enough knowledge to get a job and enough drive to prove that, after a year, I was worthy to keep it.

I decided I wanted more. I wanted to hone the skills I had and learn more techniques to improve as a teacher. I wanted to fill my head with more theories and concepts and decide for myself which were actually garbage and which would work in the classroom. I was satisfied no longer with having just enough knowledge to get the job–now I wanted to have knowledge at the Master level. So I re-enrolled in school and began the coursework.

After a semester, I evaluated what I was doing. I was spending time and money on something that wasn’t my passion. I didn’t continue in the Master’s program, and I left teaching.

I entered marriage with the same zeal and earnestness I entered teaching, and I couldn’t wait to begin the program. I originally thought that after four years of marriage, I would’ve known all I needed to know. In four years, I’d earn a degree stating I was a mini-expert on Matt and knew how to live as a good wife, how to handle any problems that came our way. Instead, I found that we were just getting started.

The first four years were years of exploration. We struggled to find out who we were as individuals, had a couple of career changes between the two of us, and tried to bring those two confused halves together to make a solid whole. We stuck those two pieces together, like two pieces of a wood that didn’t quite fit, and did our best to smooth over the rough patches. Our marriage was a little messy, but we wanted more. We had just enough knowledge to keep the marriage going but even more drive proving we were worthy of each other’s love.

We stuck with the program and immediately signed up for four more years of coursework. We took classes in parenting and finance and found out quickly just how much we didn’t know. We were still discovering ourselves as individuals but settled into the roles that fit, that seemed to make sense, as we worked together as a whole. We sanded away at the rough patches in the wood, working to make a smooth whole. It was now harder to see where one piece ended and the other began. And no longer were our decisions solely about the good of our marriage but, instead, the good of our family. At the end of another four years, we have just begun to settle into a routine.

We are a couple of weeks shy of earning our Master’s. Except I know now that I haven’t mastered anything. I’m ready to continue my coursework because I know there is more to be learned. And after eight years, the one thing I have learned for sure is that I am not worthy of my husband’s love and can never prove that I am, but I am continually thankful for the daily grace he gives me.

Marriage is a course that I will never master, but I will stick with it because Matt is my passion. We have come together as one, and while that one piece gets more nicks and scratches over time, we continue to sand and make it smooth. It can never go back to the two it was before.

And so we will re-enroll again and find, in the midst of the program, that there are more classes we need to add. And we will look to the true Master for the guidance and grace needed to continue the program with the same zeal and earnestness with which we began.

The Haircut

I debated whether or not to write this post. I mean, what’s so interesting about a haircut? But this event hasn’t left my mind since it happened three nights ago. When a thought stays with me this long, I know either God is trying to tell me something, or I have another writing topic brewing. Obviously, I decided I had a topic brewing.

For Christmas, one of the gifts from my mom was a set of kids’ hair clippers. Initially, I was a little surprised. I didn’t ask for hair clippers, and I wasn’t sure if she were insinuating something. Yes, my son’s hair was covering his eyes and, frankly, was kind of a mess, but in a cool way, of course. Once I decided how I should feel about this present, I made use of it (my mom assured me that she wasn’t insinuating anything. She thought they would come in handy since I had a son and was always looking for ways to save money.).

After learning everything I needed to know about cutting hair from the ten minute video, I proceeded to give Caleb a trim; however, his hair was too long for the clippers. I went straight for the scissors and did a decent job.

Feeling confident and anxious to try the clippers (I watched the video twice–I was an expert), I told Matt I should cut his hair. He needed a haircut, anyway, and I would save us money. He agreed.

So a few nights later after the kids were in bed and all the chores were finished, Matt sat down in a chair in the kitchen with a bright blue smock around his neck. Matt proceeded to explain that he wanted a ‘fade’, and we discussed the strategy for cutting his hair.

I looked over the written directions for this particular style and contemplated whether or not I should put back in my instructional DVD. After going over the plan with Matt a couple more times, we decided I was ready. I let Matt adjust the guard setting and got to work.

As I moved the clippers up the back of his head and watched his hair fall to the floor, I was gripped with a sudden realization–I didn’t know how to cut hair. I felt a twinge of panic as I looked at the clock that read 10:30. If I messed up, Matt had no recourse. He would have to go to work in the morning with whatever style I gave him.

Matt must have already dealt with this scenario in his mind because he did mention that if I messed up, he would completely buzz his head. This option was not one that I was willing to accept.

An hour later, with some guidance from Matt (he grew a little weary of my apprehension and aggressively used the clippers on himself at one point), I finally achieved ‘the fade.’ We played with different guard settings, and I used the scissors to trim and blend until I was satisfied that I had achieved the look. Or to put it more accurately, I cut until I was afraid to cut Matt’s hair any shorter.

I have to admit that I did a good job. Matt’s hair looked normal, and I had reached a milestone in my life. I could now give my family haircuts.

However, this pride was not the feeling that has stayed with me for the past three days. Instead, gratitude has consumed me. When I think of last Sunday night, I can’t help but remember one of the thoughts that entered my mind: “Matt and I are truly a married couple.”

Many times when I have said, “Well, you can tell we’re married,” I wasn’t paying Matt and me a compliment. We may have been snipping at each other at the time, or I was commenting on our lack of romance as we fell asleep on the couch for the seventh Friday in a row. What I felt Sunday was different.

Here I was cutting my husband’s hair when I didn’t know how, yet Matt trusted me. Or maybe he didn’t, but he was giving me the chance to try. It was really strange, but I felt that we were sharing an intimate moment as I ran the clippers across his head.

I’m sure Matt will read this post and think that he has a crazy wife. It was a haircut, not a religious experience, yet for me, it was more. I felt comfort in our marriage and knew that we had moved beyond the early years when we were still trying to figure out how to live in this new union, still slightly embarrassed to make a mistake in front of the other person.

Let’s be honest–had we been just dating, this incident would not have occurred. I have to have complete trust in a person in order to let him or her cut my hair. In fact, I experience a case of nerves any time I try a new stylist, so I feel privileged that Matt let me experiment on him. I, also, have to have complete trust in a person to willingly set myself up for failure.

The last three nights that Matt has come home I couldn’t help but look at his hair and smile. I am grateful for a partner who is willing to let me fail, and on his own hair, no less, and I am blessed that we are “truly a married couple.” Maybe God has been trying to talk to me after all….

And, no, Matt. Even though we shared this intimate moment, you may not cut my hair next.

A Romance I Can Live With

I had a realization today, the kind of realization that stopped me mid-step and forced me to think about a whole chain of related ideas. And to be honest, the realization scared me a little.

My realization came on the tail-end of all my thoughts relating to why I hate most romance movies. For one, I just can’t relate. No, I do not want to go make love with my husband on a whim in a field under the stars. First, we’d have to get a baby-sitter, and I’d have to pump a bottle for the baby in case she woke up while we were gone. Then, we’d have to find a field, and we’d have to make sure we had enough cash on hand to post bond in case we got caught. Who has the energy?

The main reason I hate romance movies, though, is that they do a disservice to the institution of marriage and give people a false idea about what it means to be ‘in love.’ I don’t know if Matt is the person God chose for me or if I chose Matt with my free will. I do know that loving each other isn’t about how we feel on any given day–it’s a choice we make daily.

As I was thinking about how stupid most romance movies are, I began to think how much hard work marriage requires of me. Every day I wear myself out trying to be a good wife and mother. I cook, I clean, I repeatedly grab socks and underwear off the top of the hamper and put them inside it. I affirm my husband that he is an excellent provider, and I close my mouth when I can sense Matt doesn’t want to talk. I watch football and have given up all rights to the remote. When I don’t feel like being married, I resolve that I will stick it out forever and find those lovey-dovey feelings, wherever they may be–Matt is so lucky! I am quite the catch!

While I was patting myself on the back for my commitment, it suddenly occurred to me that Matt might be committed, too. Just as I work hard every day for this marriage, he might feel he works hard, as well. Sure, he has the easier job of the two of us given all of the sacrifices I make, but he could just as easily walk out as I. Not that he would want to. I mean, who wouldn’t want to come home to a wife whose hair is standing on end by 5:00 every evening, her face somehow sloped downward into a permanent frown, her shrill voice piercing the ears of everyone within the walls of the house? Who wouldn’t want to come home to a wife who so thoughtfully points out all of the mistakes he has made in an effort to make him a better spouse? If Matt walked out, where would he ever find another woman who looked so good in baggy pajama bottoms, t-shirts, and wooly socks?

As I continued on in my thoughts, I became frightened. Why would anyone want to stay with me forever? Since Chloe has been born, I have not felt myself, and my emotions have been out-of-control. I have no idea what the word ‘sexy’ means. In fact, I had forgotten that I owned lingerie until I accidentally opened that unused drawer. I fall asleep any time we try to relax together, and if I manage to stay awake but Matt falls asleep, I get mad at him.

Suddenly, all of the ‘hard work’ I was doing seemed ridiculous compared to the hard work Matt was doing. For the first time, I didn’t see all the effort required of me to make my marriage work but, instead, the mental effort Matt must go through every day. I saw a man who is truly demonstrating unconditional love, and through his example, I saw what it means for God to love me, a sinner, as well. Despite all of my faults as a wife, Matt has chosen to love me every day, and having that realization today humbled me in a way I hadn’t felt before.

So…I going to stop writing now. I’m tired, and I’m not sure I even expressed my thoughts well, but my husband is upstairs waiting. I’m going to carry my baggy-pajama-pants-self upstairs and plant a kiss on my soulmate. And then I’ll probably fall asleep.

Quality of Life 2: In Need of Lighter Fluid

It was a typical Friday evening. I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my husband so we could have our ‘date night.’ I’m not really sure why I had gotten excited every Friday before; we never actually went anywhere and rarely had anything planned for the evening.

However, something about the day ‘Friday’ gave me high hopes for an exciting night–perhaps memories of when we dated in college and had plans every Friday (most Saturdays, too), memories of when we saw every movie we wanted, ate dinner at all our favorite restaurants in Athens, experienced concerts, theater–we were never out of ideas. Apparently, we were never out of money, either. Strange how things change, isn’t it?

We could decide at 11 P.M. that we wanted to go to Waffle House and have a late snack. We’d hang out with one another until way too late and carry on coherent conversations, unlike now where all dates must begin no later than 7:30 P.M. Once we cross the 9:00 mark, there’s no telling if anyone will be awake to remember the rest of the evening…

…so why I got excited all the previous Fridays was a mystery, but I was determined that this Friday would be different. We had three kids now and not a lot of money to spend on lavish evenings out, but we weren’t dead, for goodness’ sake! I decided to send Matt the following e-mail:

Pick one of the choices below (or add your own). After you choose your date, add the necessary ingredient(s) to the shopping list.

1. Game night–we can pass time playing cards or another game we find in the closet. Pick a candy to accompany this date. We can wager M&Ms or Reeses ( or a healthy version at Whole Foods) instead of poker chips.

2. A Quiet Evening–Recreate a book store. Throw pillows around the den (not the bedroom; we’ll fall asleep), and grab a book to read. We can relax in each other’s company while enjoying some literature. At the end of the bookstore date, we have to tell each other a little about what we read and if we would want to buy the book. Grab whatever you need to make a coffee or tea along with a coffee house dessert to split.

3. Secret Treasure–With eyes closed, reach into the DVD or VCR drawer, and whatever your hand chooses is what we have to watch! No exceptions! At the end of the movie, talk about what memories watching this movie invoked. Grab a munchy snack and/or Whoppers to accompany this date.

4. Plan your own date (but it has to show thought and have a communication component)

Matt replied that he liked the idea, and I spent the rest of the afternoon making sure the kids and I cleaned up everything as we went along. As soon as the kids hit their pillows, the only thing I wanted to do was put the dishes from dinner in the dishwasher and begin our date! Not knowing what idea Matt had picked made the coming evening all the more enticing.

Matt came home with Whoppers, and as I reached my hand into our movie drawer, we both had a little fear as to what I’d pull out–I was praying I hadn’t grabbed a Star Trek movie or the forever long The Lord Of the Rings. We laughed when I pulled out The Big Lebowski, a clear flashback to college, and munched on Whoppers (or at least Matt did–he loves them, I hate them) as we snuggled and started the movie.

An hour and a half later, I woke up on the couch feeling rather disappointed that we hadn’t succeeded in completing our date. Nonetheless, I had earlier felt something that I hadn’t felt in a while–giddiness. I actually felt a little giddy waiting for Matt and then sitting on the couch laughing with him. No, we hadn’t left our doors or done anything that amazing, but the fact that we made a definite plan for our evening together, a plan that was somewhat different from the other Fridays gave me a taste of the excitement from years earlier when I’d wait for Matt to knock at my door.

I guess the lesson I learned from this experience is that (1) I shouldn’t plan anything involving movies until Chloe is consistently sleeping through the night, and (2) ensuring that our marriage has a little of that thrill factor from years ago will take focus and commitment.

Life’s different now. We can’t hop in the car on a whim driving to our next adventure. We have three other lives for which we are responsible. They drain us emotionally and physically. At the end of the night, we have little left for each other.

Life’s different now…and it’s better. We have the fullness of a family, and we have no better opportunity to show our kids God’s love than how we treat each other in our marriage. It’s harder and may take a little more creativity, but it’s worth it to try to fan the flame or whatever other cliche’ one would like to use.

So…I need to brainstorm some ideas. Tomorrow’s Friday, and I’ll be darned if anybody’s going to fall asleep on the couch this time!

——————————–

Any relationship takes hard work, and those that matter most are worth the invested time. Last week, I asked what tips you all had for taking care of the environment. This week I want to know what tips you have for taking care of your most important relationships. If you are married or dating, do you have any cheap date night ideas? How do your preserve your friendships? Share your comments! Again, my hope is that we can all take away one idea to improve this part of our lives!

Quality of Life