It started like this.

A plain and previously un-boy-crazy 14-year-old girl saw an extroverted, dark-haired 15-year-old boy in a tuxedo, playing his trombone, interacting enthusiastically with folks at a church event one winter’s night in 1994.  And she was smitten.

He was oblivious.

She hunted down his phone number and invited him to Bible Study at her church.  Surprisingly, he came.  And she spent a good deal more time aiming shy smiles in his direction than studying the Bible.  He kept coming back and she kept pursuing.  Hard.  And in time, she ‘won’ him.

They dated most of high school, all googly-eyed and silly.  But they were both young and foolish and kisses were given and hurtful words were spoken and they parted in pain.  She went off to college in Iowa; he stayed in Nebraska.  He dated a couple other girls; no other boys ever wanted her.

And a letter came in the mail then, from him, that one year in college, all lame and mechanical-sounding: ‘Hello. How are you? I am fine. It is hot here. Is it hot there?’  And she wrote a letter back.  More and more and more letters.  And by Christmastime that year, somehow, all had been made right, and they decided to get married.

It’s been more than 16 years ago, that wedding day.

Quite embarrassingly, here’s what I thought at the start of it all:

I thought he would be my everything – that he would meet all my needs, so I wouldn’t really need anyone else in my life, married now as I was.  Wouldn’t need parents or brothers or sisters or friends much.  Thought he would be my shoulder to cry on, my ‘girlfriend’ to gab with, my cheerleader, my spiritual leader, my best friend.  Thought there wasn’t much about him that bugged me and wasn’t much about me that bugged him.  Thought the few ‘shortcomings’ I did see in him could easily be…modified.  Expected him to pursue me daily, physically, intimately – to touch me seductively, to cup my face gently in his hands and gaze into my eyes adoringly just like I like, to be in constant awe of my beauty.  Expected him to pursue me emotionally too – to inquire about my day and my feelings, my hopes and dreams, to ask deep and thoughtful questions aimed at getting to the heart of who I was.  Thought he should be interested in every minute detail of my life – know all my preferences, my peeves, do things just the way I like them done.  Tended to blame him when the going got rough – if only he would ‘x’, then ‘y’ would be better.  Ran away from conflict, from him, when things got hard – thought that was best, really.  Expected oodles of time together, shared interests and passions.  Thought he saw the world like I did, wanted the same things.  Imagined I’d never be lonely.  Figured on a happy-all-the-time kind of life.

But what you think marriage will be there at the very beginning and what marriage actually is as the days and years begin to pass by, those are often two different things, yes?  And how to let go of what you thought it would all be and embrace what you’re really living day after day after day, season after season?  And how to do that willingly with grace and tenderness, rather than begrudgingly, the heart turning slowly to stone?

The short answer is: I don’t really know, yet.  Am still learning.  And probably always will be.

But here’s what I’m thinking at the moment – how I’m trying to love, how I’m trying to see – the words I am speaking to myself:

I have to give thanks for the man that he is, instead of silently willing him to be the man I thought he should be.  Sure, he never surprises me with my favorite drink and rarely cups my face tenderly in his hands, but he is faithful and loyal, a hard worker and excellent provider, a good dad.  It’s true that he doesn’t spend an inordinate amount of time reading, journaling, pondering life and love and the Word, like I do, but he’s always ready for an adventure.  It’s true that our hearts, our dreams feel at odds sometimes, like maybe we don’t really value the same things, and yet he always sees something, someone in me that I don’t see in myself, tells me not to give up – with my writing, my quest of knowing Christ more fully, in my most imperfect pursuit of attempting to love people.  He is frequently gone, but he gives me a good amount of freedom to live and to serve as I see fit.  He does leave his beard hair all over the bathroom counter and always wants me to hang his tuxedo up after a concert, but he can create and fix things, and he invests in people, in students, builds them right up with his instruction and care.  And so, I have to actively remember the good in him, giving him ‘permission’ to be simply who he is, and to all the while {somehow} let the not-so-good fade wordlessly away, without a hint of bitterness or regret or accusation clinging on there.

In my best moments, I can clearly see His goodness in meeting my needs through others – in family, community, in the Body – can acknowledge that He has provided for me, just not all in him like I thought there 16 years ago.  Maybe he’s not always there when I need a shoulder to cry on, but my mom is.  Maybe he isn’t wired like my ‘girlfriend,’ doesn’t appreciate having the same conversation about emotions and relationships over and over and over, but my sister and college roommate do.  Maybe he has a hard time understanding the soul-weariness that being a stay-at-home mama brings, but so many ladies at church and in our neighborhood here, they know.  Maybe he isn’t the spiritual leader I’d always imagined, but our pastors step in and set Truth before us week after week after week.  One person can never be ‘enough,’ can never be sufficient for another – part of why He sets us, His people, in community, yes?  So we can step in and intercede for one another, being for one what another cannot be, lives intertwining. so we all can flourish in this wilderness together.

I have to realize too that my deepest needs can never be met by any man apart from Christ Himself.  What I lack, He must provide.  When I think I want him to pursue me, it’s really Him I’m longing for.  When I think I want him to lead and counsel, to guide and deliver me, my heart is really crying out for the Leader, the Counselor, the Guide, the Deliverer.  When I grieve because I feel like he doesn’t really know me anymore, I can rest in the knowledge that He does know me, knows me better than I know myself, and He cares deeply, passionately, eternally.  When I am often lonely, I can choose to rest in the Truth, that I am never alone.

And so, it isn’t him.  It isn’t that he needs to change or that if I was married to someone else, it would all be easier, better – that life, marriage would somehow magically morph into what I had hoped it would be.  But it’s me, ever looking for fulfillment and attention and affirmation in all the wrong places, grasping after what I tell myself will satisfy, but won’t truly.  It’s me, believing the lie that the creature, he who is tangible and seen, can love me more truly, more fully than the Creator who is intangible and unseen.  It’s me, revealing the absolute selfishness of my soul, thinking that surely he was put on this earth to meet my needs, to serve me.  But no, I am the one whose heart needs a re-making here.

I have to come to the place where I truly believe, and more than that – I truly live – like this life, this marriage – it’s not about me.  To live is Christ.  And this is the man Christ has called me to love, for better or for worse.  To love him is to love Him.  And for me to be able to love him well, I have to know self-forgetfulness and to find joy there, in saying to him, ‘Christ is my all, come what may.  He will meet my every need unfulfilled.  I release you from that obligation.’  And even more, to face him, wholly focused on this image-bearer of the King with whom I have been called to share life, and inquire genuinely, ‘But enough about me – what about you?  How can I meet you, serve you, bless you today, in this moment, the fleeting time we have together here?’  And when I don’t feel like doing that, to beg Christ to make a way, to soften me and mold me, that my meager attempts at loving him would ultimately result in His honor and glory.  It’s a constant pleading, that my prayers would be less that he might be what I need, and more that I might be what he needs.

And what does he need?  Constant pressure to become what I wish he was?  To be subtly manipulated, guilted into pleasing me?  To be made to feel like he doesn’t measure up?  No!  He, like all of us, needs to be constantly pointed back to the Truth, his eyes lifted and redirected to the Joy and Love and Light of life!  To have one to come alongside him in patience and grace, bearing with him in the trials and darkness which threaten to overwhelm, reaffirming his identity in Christ, who he is and who he is not, and encouragement to keep pressing on, not growing weary in the battle.  All I can give him of any value is an example of a growing awe of and love for our Lord!  And to attempt to demonstrate, ever in an imperfect way, the love He has for us – getting up early to eat breakfast together, packing his lunch, encouraging him to pursue things that bring him joy; texting him words of life and affirmation; welcoming him to a place of intimacy and nakedness, body and soul; offering the best of myself to him without any strings attached.  Things that may seem small, but some days require enormous effort to do willingly, without the internal dialogue of grumbling and lament, the tendency toward self-pity.

Too I have to move toward him, no matter what.  No matter how much hurt there is between us, no matter how strong the inclination to flee emotionally, I must first determine to stand, and then to approach him in humility, not as ‘less than,’ but as a fellow traveler who doesn’t have it all figured out, who longs for redemption and reconciliation, for all to be made right.  I can’t shut down, try to protect my heart, just throw in the towel and call it quits – even when every fiber of my being tells me to do just that, at times.  But must find value and purpose in the sanctifying, suffering work that marriage is.

Because marriage, it can be a good teacher.  Can magnify our own wounds and weaknesses, can cause us to unearth things we’d rather keep buried.  Can force us to be steadfast, to press on, when we’d rather just shrivel up and stop trying.  Can challenge and shape our perspective – of ourselves, our loved ones, our neighbors, the world, our God.  Can be a catalyst for personal growth, spiritual maturity – a calling back and a calling out, knowing one another well enough to speak Truth in the most intimate, laser-sharp ways.  Provides countless, daily opportunities to practice self-sacrifice and Christ-like servanthood, to live out what we say we believe.

And so too while we try to reconcile marriage as we hoped it would be and marriage as it actually is here, we find Hope in the promise of our coming wedding – when Christ, the Bridegroom, will return for His Bride, the Church.  When He who created us, He who knows us, He who pursues us so faithfully, so persistently and with such passion, will return and He will never disappoint.  For He is sufficient for us each, for us all.  And as His Bride, we will know only perfect Love, will share in an eternal feast, a forever celebration of the joining together of God and His people.  And on this Day, He will fulfill all our longings, our desires in ways that are too wonderful for us even to imagine.  And so we live for that Day today.  And every day.  Knowing that our earthly marriage is only a foretaste, a preparation, a rehearsal for eternal union with Christ.

 

 

 

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