I wonder how long it takes to become an expert at something? How long do we commit to a cause before we can speak about it with any authority? In the early days of our marriage when we were reading all the books spouses are supposed to read, I wondered if we would ever know all there is to know. Two decades in, I’m feeling quite sure that this is one journey that is going to take a lifetime of work and continuing education. This post is not filled with expert advice, I am sorry to say. All I have is a story to tell. If you can identify in some small way or if these words encourage, strengthen or comfort you along in your own story, it’s been time well spent telling a little bit of ours.
I learnt early on as a young mother never to consider myself doing better than another. I was holding my faultless newborn when I noticed the baby acne on another tiny baby’s face. I couldn’t help comparing the two and feeling rather thrilled that I had managed to produce such perfection. The very next day my own child broke out in spots and I decided then and there that I should mind my own business. Not only that, but when I see other people struggling in some way that I am winning at, to thank God for my merciful season of good fortune and to pray for blessing and help for the ones not doing as well. Nowadays, when I see terrible behaviour, for example, I don’t even focus on it long, never mind point it out to anyone else. I simply say “thank goodness that it’s not my problem today” because, sure as nuts, tomorrow it probably will be. We are humans, and for the most part, we are dealing with a lot of similar highs and lows.
So here we are, twenty years since I walked in white towards him, Canon in D drifting across the glorious garden. The one and only man I have ever loved stood waiting, his tear filled eyes telling me we would do far better together than we had ever done apart. Otters played in the water when we began our courtship one summer’s afternoon on a canoe on a lake. Waves crashed into the shore when he proposed and I said yes one blustery night. A Lucky Bean Tree dropped seeds into the grass we stood on as we said our vows and exchanged rings. Without meaning to oversimplify things, him and I joining forces has been fun, wild and blessed. Otters. Unrestrained weather. Lucky Bean seeds.
I tell him he can never overdo tenderness. “Stroke my hair, touch my cheek, put your arm around my back, rest your hand on my knee, look me in the eyes as you kiss me briefly on the lips” I say. Not always, of course, just now and then. We cannot read one another’s minds in our marriage, and so we have resorted to asking one another exactly what is needed. It’s far safer than guessing. One thing I have never asked him to do, he does it all on his own, is my favourite thing of all. He takes one of my hands and holds it in both of his and when he does this he is the tenderness king. Men, your wife or your wife-to-be may not be very like me, but there is a good chance that because she is a woman, she will be similar in many ways. Be tender towards her. It will only mean good news for you.
I have discovered that men get more than enough “beaten up” in their social and business worlds and that they do not need to be told off at home as well. The admiration and approval I give to my man go a long way to building up the very one I thought was invincible. He treats me with great care and I respect him. It seems to be a winning combination. It’s one of those things we have read about or heard or watched in older couples we admire, but just because we know about it does not mean we are always good at it. It takes a lifetime of making the right choices. Marriage, like a stoneware vase, is robust as anything when positioned right and treated with care. Drop it once and maybe you’ll be fortunate enough to glue the pieces together. Drop it one too many times and there are going to be lots of sharp edges that will make you and the people around you bleed. I am speaking to myself when I write to us all – some things must not be dropped.
Love is not about all those incredible feelings experienced in the early days. Love is deciding to clean up the dog’s vomit before he sees it. All too often I have seen it first and left it for “somebody else” to sort out. The wickedness needs constant ripping out! Love is thinking about clean linen on the beds, and saving the last piece for the other and speaking highly of one another in public as well as private. Love says “You rest, I will keep an eye on this zoo….er…home.” It sounds so terribly romantic, being in love, but it is actually days becoming years of intentionally behaving in a way that says “You are more important than me.” The best part about it is that if both parties believe it’s the way forward, then while you are bending over backwards to make sure he is eating what he likes, he will be just as busy making sure your favourite magazine is waiting on the table beside your bed. It’s not unreasonable to imagine that it might just be as simple as that.
Once, I was so mad with him that I flew out of the house like a kite with snapped strings. I am embarrassed to say that one of our babies was in the pram whilst I threw myself out the door and marched up the hill. I tried to make out to the baby that it was just a fast walk to put him to sleep but I was enraged by something I cannot even remember now. I muttered under my breath and clenched my jaws and felt as out of love as an icicle hanging on the edge of a roof in a snowstorm. I have also thrown sweets at him, exasperated. They were in my hand at the time and I felt that speed would be more effective than stopping to look for something more suitable to throw. He is far more long suffering and has never behaved as atrociously. I share these things I would rather hide because it hasn’t been all roses. Disappointments, fatigue, financial strain, miscommunication, health concerns, loneliness, chaos, misunderstanding, unresolved trauma and the likes have been ours to deal with along the way, too.
During a marriage course we went on once, (The Marriage Course at HTB in London with Nicky and Sila Lee) we learnt the art of conflict. It’s one thing to fight and kill one another with words. It’s another, altogether, to find ourselves in a difficult place – disagreeing, arguing, offended, wounded, icy – and to go through the conflict together until we reach the other side. The advice we were given was to sit side by side and place the “issue” on a table in front of us. Instead of the issue separating us, we were taught to look at it in front of us and attack it together. If our shoulders could touch and we could hold hands, even better. Fighting for one another and with one another is a revolutionary idea when you have been fighting against one another. Love is a choice. Sometimes we have to fight for what we have.
As always, I am torn when I write because if it’s about children I am thinking of friends who would love to be called ‘Mommy’ but it hasn’t happened. If it’s about our home I am thinking of those who can’t pay the rent or need to move yet again. If it’s about marriage I am thinking about my exquisite, single friends or the ones who got divorced or the ones who lost the love of their life. I write about what I know is true and I am mindful of those who will feel pain when they read. What can I say except, the story is not over yet. Now is not the time to lose heart, we have all come way too far for that. Keep hope alive, dear ones.
1 Corinthians 13 verse 8 “Love never fails.”
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