I was watching an absurd comedian on television a few weeks ago. He was telling of a trip to Greece with his wife and a side excursion to the top of some minor mountain top.
"Now the tourists have two options to the top... you can take an aerial tram, takes two minutes, or you can ride a burro, which takes all friggin' afternoon.
"The guy renting the burros has to have about the worst sales pitch in the world...
" 'You can take the burros to the top of the mountain, or you can take the tram. The price is the same.'
"Now I don't know about you, but if I was trying to rent burros, I'd keep that little piece of information to myself."
He got his laughs, I smiled a little. I knew the point wasn't about the comfort or the speed to the top of that grecian mountaintop. It was about experiencing Greece. It was about going to the top to watch the sun set, or appreciate the archipelago. The whole point in going on a trip like that is to appreciate the place itself, its beauty, its culture. It isn't about speed.
I might very well choose the burro if I had the time.
I understand his point though. We like to do things fast, easy, conveniently.
Want to lose weight? Surely there must be a pill for it. Let's fax it, email it, order it online. Let's do it virtually, swallow the capfull, drag the ol' Ab Do-er into the living room.
Want to get closer to God? Change the radio station to a Christian one, or get to your seat in church on time.
Want life to be easy?
Me too.
I walked into the counselor yesterday. We made small talk. I sat silently, impatiently. We finally got to business. Brenda reported the events of the past week.
What a mess.
I had three options for Brenda and they had one trait in common trait: they were quick. Each had a finality about them, an immediate resolution. A nice and tidy conclusion to a messy situation.
The counselor had a fourth option. One that hasn't a quick resolution. One which requires more work, more prayer, more patience from me.
It offered help for Brenda, healing, time to catch her breath, time to learn to make good decisions.
Being human is a strange thing. We are spiritual beings trapped in physical bodies driven by animal needs and desires. We are so far removed from our true home, the one we have been adopted into. We are visitors to this world, this foyer into eternal life.
We are sort of like middle schoolers. No matter what is next in their schedule they are eager to be dismissed from their current location to rush to science or math or Language Arts. I would like to rush through this, get past the messy part.
The point of being here isn't just to complete the task. It isn't about getting to the top of the mountain and getting the snapshot that can be emailed home or uploaded onto a blog. The point of being here is to learn, to grow, to understand who we are, what we are about, even if the learning is difficult. Maybe it is even to help each other, especially those we love.
I may be just a visitor to this mortal life, but I know that sometimes I should take the burro, not the tram.
I want this to be over. I want us to move on. I want my wife to say she is sorry, that she loves me, that we can be whole again.
Instead I find that my wife needs me, that she is ill and it is my job to do as I vowed, to love and cherish in sickness and in health.
So, there's a steep mountain ahead. The fellow renting the burros tells me the tram is faster and the same price. But I know that the purpose here is to do what is right, to experience this “vacation from eternity.” Besides, I think the guy renting the burros is my Lord in disguise.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Ultimatums II
We went to counseling today. Earlier I had gone home, talked with her, told her I had three options for her.
Option 1: Return to our marriage. NEVER speak to this other man again. Quit your job. Dedicate yourself to letting the past go and building on a future together which is to last at least another 26 years, not until some shorter goal such as getting the kids out. NO MORE speaking harshly to our children. I consider what happened last night abuse and will not permit it. Try to love Jeremiah, and if you fail in that, at least convince him you do. Go to counseling. With me for our marriage, and alone to work through your own demons. Find the excitement in me as a man, honor and respect, and even fun, in and out of the bedroom.
Option 2: Divorce. We'll tally up our debts, compare them to our assets, and I will do what I can to keep the house. Make payments to you, pay the debts myself, whatever. I will finish raising the children. We may work out visitations, but the task is mine. I love these children. I will protect them from anything, including you. You will have your own life, I will work to rebuild ours.
Option 3: A separation until Jeremiah's legal issues are resolved and then a divorce. I will treat the separation as a divorce. Remove my wedding ring, separate you from the house. You will not be able to come and go as you please. You may not come over and play "mommy" to them. I do not trust you with them. Your statements to Jeremiah were abusive and will not happen again. Your statements about not sure if you believe in God to Isaac shakes his faith. I am the head of their spiritual development. You may hold whatever opinion you wish, but you will not assist them in questioning their faith. You may continue on my health plan for as long as the separation holds (J's legal issues are resolved) but if you need anything beyond that, sorry, but we will be going through a divorce and you will have to solve that on your own.
During the session Brenda confessed her unfaithfulness, her breaking of our agreement, her leaving, her returning, and the harsh things she said to Jeremiah last night.
The counselor talked to Brenda about her alcoholism, how she makes bad decisions because of it, even when she isn’t drinking. Even when she hadn’t been drinking for years, a “white knuckle alcoholic,” he said.
He asked me what I wanted to do. I read him the three options I have written here.
I told him I wanted the first option. He said that Brenda could not keep to that agreement. That she would stray, that we would be back in the same situation again. He said he could just about guarantee that she would break the agreement.
I felt pretty trapped.
“So, I must choose one of the other options? I don’t want to end our marriage. I want to help her, heal her. If she cannot keep to the choice of healing our marriage then I must go with one of the other choices.”
“There are other options, Will. Those are either-or options you have painted and your marriage will not survive any of them.”
I started to get a little ticked.
“So, what are you suggesting? That she and I go on living with her running off whenever she feels like it? I won’t do it. I can’t do it. I’m coming apart as it is. I’m not eating, I’m not sleeping. I won’t last much longer this way. I need to take care of myself I won’t be any good for my kids!”
“There are other ways to see this, other ways to help her heal and perhaps get what you want as well.”
He permitted a dramatic pause. I bit:
“So. Let’s see this rabbit of yours.”
“You can see Brenda as having an illness. That she cannot make good decisions in this condition. She is an alcoholic and whether or not she is drinking she makes choices based on it. You could have another sort of separation.”
“So, she moves in with him? We stay married and she runs off to ‘get well’ and does what she likes?”
“No, she gets treatment and finds some neutral place to stay. With relatives or something. Imagine she is in a hospital bed, unable to make choices right now. She is ill and needs healing.”
We all stopped talking for a few moments.
“I will stay,” she said. I’ll stop seeing John and I’ll quit my job.”
All of us exchanged glances.
“I’ll stay home, and I’ll quit my job, and I’ll get treatment.”
We spoke for a bit longer. Worked out some details.
So...
Option 4: She breaks off all contact with this other man. She quits her job. She goes in for a psychological evaluation and they determine a real treatment, not just AA but a real treatment for the underlying causes behind her decision making and her alcoholism. We continue to go to counseling. I go to counseling. I give her space. I do not push her to be affectionate or pretend to be my loving wife. She stays here, in our home, and I back off, letting her work through her issues. I will try to find opportunities for her to get away for a day or two at a time, stay with a friend, perhaps someone fro our church or something, so she can have a little peace to sort through things.
I suppose it is better than the choices I gave her.
I suppose it gives me a little room to relax, this added distance between her and this other man, and it works on the underlying issues.
It isn’t all rainbows and fluttering blue birds, but it provides a better hedge around her than my plan and it provides her guidance for healing.
I’m not saying I am overjoyed with the situation. I am saying it is a place where I can see room for the Lord to work and perhaps heal what is broken in this home.
My gratitude to all of you for your prayers.
Option 1: Return to our marriage. NEVER speak to this other man again. Quit your job. Dedicate yourself to letting the past go and building on a future together which is to last at least another 26 years, not until some shorter goal such as getting the kids out. NO MORE speaking harshly to our children. I consider what happened last night abuse and will not permit it. Try to love Jeremiah, and if you fail in that, at least convince him you do. Go to counseling. With me for our marriage, and alone to work through your own demons. Find the excitement in me as a man, honor and respect, and even fun, in and out of the bedroom.
Option 2: Divorce. We'll tally up our debts, compare them to our assets, and I will do what I can to keep the house. Make payments to you, pay the debts myself, whatever. I will finish raising the children. We may work out visitations, but the task is mine. I love these children. I will protect them from anything, including you. You will have your own life, I will work to rebuild ours.
Option 3: A separation until Jeremiah's legal issues are resolved and then a divorce. I will treat the separation as a divorce. Remove my wedding ring, separate you from the house. You will not be able to come and go as you please. You may not come over and play "mommy" to them. I do not trust you with them. Your statements to Jeremiah were abusive and will not happen again. Your statements about not sure if you believe in God to Isaac shakes his faith. I am the head of their spiritual development. You may hold whatever opinion you wish, but you will not assist them in questioning their faith. You may continue on my health plan for as long as the separation holds (J's legal issues are resolved) but if you need anything beyond that, sorry, but we will be going through a divorce and you will have to solve that on your own.
During the session Brenda confessed her unfaithfulness, her breaking of our agreement, her leaving, her returning, and the harsh things she said to Jeremiah last night.
The counselor talked to Brenda about her alcoholism, how she makes bad decisions because of it, even when she isn’t drinking. Even when she hadn’t been drinking for years, a “white knuckle alcoholic,” he said.
He asked me what I wanted to do. I read him the three options I have written here.
I told him I wanted the first option. He said that Brenda could not keep to that agreement. That she would stray, that we would be back in the same situation again. He said he could just about guarantee that she would break the agreement.
I felt pretty trapped.
“So, I must choose one of the other options? I don’t want to end our marriage. I want to help her, heal her. If she cannot keep to the choice of healing our marriage then I must go with one of the other choices.”
“There are other options, Will. Those are either-or options you have painted and your marriage will not survive any of them.”
I started to get a little ticked.
“So, what are you suggesting? That she and I go on living with her running off whenever she feels like it? I won’t do it. I can’t do it. I’m coming apart as it is. I’m not eating, I’m not sleeping. I won’t last much longer this way. I need to take care of myself I won’t be any good for my kids!”
“There are other ways to see this, other ways to help her heal and perhaps get what you want as well.”
He permitted a dramatic pause. I bit:
“So. Let’s see this rabbit of yours.”
“You can see Brenda as having an illness. That she cannot make good decisions in this condition. She is an alcoholic and whether or not she is drinking she makes choices based on it. You could have another sort of separation.”
“So, she moves in with him? We stay married and she runs off to ‘get well’ and does what she likes?”
“No, she gets treatment and finds some neutral place to stay. With relatives or something. Imagine she is in a hospital bed, unable to make choices right now. She is ill and needs healing.”
We all stopped talking for a few moments.
“I will stay,” she said. I’ll stop seeing John and I’ll quit my job.”
All of us exchanged glances.
“I’ll stay home, and I’ll quit my job, and I’ll get treatment.”
We spoke for a bit longer. Worked out some details.
So...
Option 4: She breaks off all contact with this other man. She quits her job. She goes in for a psychological evaluation and they determine a real treatment, not just AA but a real treatment for the underlying causes behind her decision making and her alcoholism. We continue to go to counseling. I go to counseling. I give her space. I do not push her to be affectionate or pretend to be my loving wife. She stays here, in our home, and I back off, letting her work through her issues. I will try to find opportunities for her to get away for a day or two at a time, stay with a friend, perhaps someone fro our church or something, so she can have a little peace to sort through things.
I suppose it is better than the choices I gave her.
I suppose it gives me a little room to relax, this added distance between her and this other man, and it works on the underlying issues.
It isn’t all rainbows and fluttering blue birds, but it provides a better hedge around her than my plan and it provides her guidance for healing.
I’m not saying I am overjoyed with the situation. I am saying it is a place where I can see room for the Lord to work and perhaps heal what is broken in this home.
My gratitude to all of you for your prayers.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Firm Grip
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Firm Grip
She sat rigidly in her seat, a stoic approach to being in a public place, a place where nearly everyone puts their best foot forward, their shiniest, happiest face.
I sat beside her, doing my best to look calm, at peace, ready to worship.
I love worship. I shut my eyes, tune out everything but the words, the music, and within the chambers of my heart turn the lyrics into prayers. Today it was hard to do. I shed a quiet tear or two as I thought about the love I have for Him, the love He has for me, the love she doesn’t have.
The songs where about His mighty love, His sovereignty. I felt there was little control in my life.
The night before had been a rough one. The day had begun well. Brenda did house cleaning. I pitched in, starting on the half bath off the living room. She instantly became testy, intense. She complained about my being in her way, argued about how I was doing it, yelled about being left alone.
She calmed down, confessing she doesn’t want help, that she has a system, that we wouldn’t do things right. We went out to shoot pool. Her hurts and anger surfaced quickly. A time for us to be together became an endless stream of anger pouring from her. Her frowning face was only inches from mine as she vented over things done and left undone twenty years ago.
Last night, after hours of being told about how she was patient for years with me, we fell asleep. Or rather, she fell asleep. I lay awake in bed for hours.
These tongue whippings are hard to tolerate. I stand there, under the torrent of her anger, and listen carefully to her complaints. I acknowledge what is true, shelve what is not. I don’t pick up my own experiences to whip her with. I simply love and forgive her.
But there, late at night, her gentle breath belying the storm within her, I think... about divorce.
I can’t do it.
After church yesterday we were on the back porch...
“I don’t want to quit my job.”
“I know. It’s a good job. It is good for you. It pays well for part time, its hours match our needs, it places you in an environment of learning and gives you a sense of growing and learning. But it is where he works and it is a temptation you need to place far from you.”
“I don’t even see him there. He doesn’t come into the learning center. And if I wanted to see him, not working there wouldn’t stop me.”
“It isn’t a matter of removing all possibilities. It is a matter of reducing temptations, to help you, to help us...
“Look Brenda, I don’t like telling you what to do. I generally don’t do it. But I haven’t any choice here. I lay awake most of last night thinking about divorce. It would be so much easier to just quit. There isn’t anything in this situation which brings me happiness.
“But I can’t divorce you for three reasons. First, it would be bad for you. You need to heal, to grow out of the ugly place you are in. You need to be restored. And I want to help heal you, help care and nurture you. I want to encourage you to be happy, to be healthy, to be what I know you can be.
“The second reason I can’t divorce you is because of the boys. They love you. It would hurt them so badly for you to leave. I don’t know how they can possibly handle it.
“The third reason I can’t divorce you is I simply can’t. And not because I love you, though that is part of it, I love you and want to help you. But I can’t divorce you because I am trapped in this marriage. I took a vow to love you, to stand by you always. As long as you say you are going to stay and work on our marriage I cannot abandon my vows. I am trapped by what I have sworn to do, and that is to stand by you. Tell me you won’t work on our marriage, tell me that you won’t stop seeing this other man, and then I will be freed from my vows.”
She frowned.
I used to think that divorce is what happened to people without the willpower to stick through tough times. I don't anymore. I know longer judge such people. Or people who do all sorts of things I may not do, or may not approve of. My job is not to judge them. My job is to simply love them.
While in church, while thinking about how I feel I have no choices, that I must do what I am doing, no matter how it hurts, I thought of how God is holding me. I felt His presence during the worship songs. I felt a longing for Him, a love for Him deeper than my mortal frets and worries.
I can’t run away. I can’t fly this situation. I can’t force someone to do, to feel, what I want. All I can do is what is prescribed for me to do.
When I was in college I took a year of fencing. It was great exercise.
We practiced the lunges and quiding the movements of the rubber-tipped blades, how to move our bodies to place that tip exactly wherever we needed it.
We were told how to hold the handle of those fencing foils. We were told to imagine we were holding a small bird. The bird wants to fly away. We grip it in our hand firmly enough that it cannot escape, but not so tightly it is hurt.
The Lord holds me firmly. My vows hold me. I struggle with my lack of choices in the middle of the night, but I still remain firmly in His hand.
But not too tightly. Brenda has told me once again she loves this other man, that I’m not her type. This bargain we have struck is too fragile too last.
Last might I went on line to find out where I could the legal forms for divorce.
During church the other day I felt the Lord’s firm grip.
I squirm and flap my wings trying to break free. I have a growing sense I soon shall be.
Firm Grip
She sat rigidly in her seat, a stoic approach to being in a public place, a place where nearly everyone puts their best foot forward, their shiniest, happiest face.
I sat beside her, doing my best to look calm, at peace, ready to worship.
I love worship. I shut my eyes, tune out everything but the words, the music, and within the chambers of my heart turn the lyrics into prayers. Today it was hard to do. I shed a quiet tear or two as I thought about the love I have for Him, the love He has for me, the love she doesn’t have.
The songs where about His mighty love, His sovereignty. I felt there was little control in my life.
The night before had been a rough one. The day had begun well. Brenda did house cleaning. I pitched in, starting on the half bath off the living room. She instantly became testy, intense. She complained about my being in her way, argued about how I was doing it, yelled about being left alone.
She calmed down, confessing she doesn’t want help, that she has a system, that we wouldn’t do things right. We went out to shoot pool. Her hurts and anger surfaced quickly. A time for us to be together became an endless stream of anger pouring from her. Her frowning face was only inches from mine as she vented over things done and left undone twenty years ago.
Last night, after hours of being told about how she was patient for years with me, we fell asleep. Or rather, she fell asleep. I lay awake in bed for hours.
These tongue whippings are hard to tolerate. I stand there, under the torrent of her anger, and listen carefully to her complaints. I acknowledge what is true, shelve what is not. I don’t pick up my own experiences to whip her with. I simply love and forgive her.
But there, late at night, her gentle breath belying the storm within her, I think... about divorce.
I can’t do it.
After church yesterday we were on the back porch...
“I don’t want to quit my job.”
“I know. It’s a good job. It is good for you. It pays well for part time, its hours match our needs, it places you in an environment of learning and gives you a sense of growing and learning. But it is where he works and it is a temptation you need to place far from you.”
“I don’t even see him there. He doesn’t come into the learning center. And if I wanted to see him, not working there wouldn’t stop me.”
“It isn’t a matter of removing all possibilities. It is a matter of reducing temptations, to help you, to help us...
“Look Brenda, I don’t like telling you what to do. I generally don’t do it. But I haven’t any choice here. I lay awake most of last night thinking about divorce. It would be so much easier to just quit. There isn’t anything in this situation which brings me happiness.
“But I can’t divorce you for three reasons. First, it would be bad for you. You need to heal, to grow out of the ugly place you are in. You need to be restored. And I want to help heal you, help care and nurture you. I want to encourage you to be happy, to be healthy, to be what I know you can be.
“The second reason I can’t divorce you is because of the boys. They love you. It would hurt them so badly for you to leave. I don’t know how they can possibly handle it.
“The third reason I can’t divorce you is I simply can’t. And not because I love you, though that is part of it, I love you and want to help you. But I can’t divorce you because I am trapped in this marriage. I took a vow to love you, to stand by you always. As long as you say you are going to stay and work on our marriage I cannot abandon my vows. I am trapped by what I have sworn to do, and that is to stand by you. Tell me you won’t work on our marriage, tell me that you won’t stop seeing this other man, and then I will be freed from my vows.”
She frowned.
I used to think that divorce is what happened to people without the willpower to stick through tough times. I don't anymore. I know longer judge such people. Or people who do all sorts of things I may not do, or may not approve of. My job is not to judge them. My job is to simply love them.
While in church, while thinking about how I feel I have no choices, that I must do what I am doing, no matter how it hurts, I thought of how God is holding me. I felt His presence during the worship songs. I felt a longing for Him, a love for Him deeper than my mortal frets and worries.
I can’t run away. I can’t fly this situation. I can’t force someone to do, to feel, what I want. All I can do is what is prescribed for me to do.
When I was in college I took a year of fencing. It was great exercise.
We practiced the lunges and quiding the movements of the rubber-tipped blades, how to move our bodies to place that tip exactly wherever we needed it.
We were told how to hold the handle of those fencing foils. We were told to imagine we were holding a small bird. The bird wants to fly away. We grip it in our hand firmly enough that it cannot escape, but not so tightly it is hurt.
The Lord holds me firmly. My vows hold me. I struggle with my lack of choices in the middle of the night, but I still remain firmly in His hand.
But not too tightly. Brenda has told me once again she loves this other man, that I’m not her type. This bargain we have struck is too fragile too last.
Last might I went on line to find out where I could the legal forms for divorce.
During church the other day I felt the Lord’s firm grip.
I squirm and flap my wings trying to break free. I have a growing sense I soon shall be.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Unhappy
She is unhappy.
I think I understand.
When she came back I made demands on what she must do if she were to stay.
She had left, I thought for good. After a night of comforting my children morning found me checking on each of them.
Isaac was upset. He wanted to talk to her.
He had asked to talk to her eleven years ago when she had run off the first time. His crying for her had brought her back. Afterwards, her resentment showed in her interactions with him for a long time.
I didn’t want that to happen again, but he was desperate to talk to her. I sent her a text message. If she called it was because she felt like talking, not because I had put him on the phone. She called. The boys answered, came and told me she was coming over in a few hours.
She came. The boys cried, her heart melted, she said she would stay. I cautioned the boys we had things to work out first.
I had demands on what she must do if she were to stay.
I told her that there could be no more deceit, no more loopholes, no more half measures.
I told her she must break off all contact with the other man.
I told her she must remove the temptations which invite her to stray. She agreed to give up her disposable cell phone and seek another job.
I told her she must work on our marriage, not as a stop gap to buy time but with the goal of building a marriage that would last another 26 years. She agreed.
Yesterday she kept busy. She cooked a Thanksgiving Day meal, just for the four of us (well, Rocky got a little too).
Today she wasn’t so busy. She fell into a depression. Over the course of the day I watched it turn into resentment.
She is unhappy. She feels guilt. She feels the desire to eat more of forbidden fruit. She feels she is a slut. She feels unbeautiful.
“How ya doing?” I asked.
“All right for someone is spending her life serving other people who can’t help themselves.”
That sounds bad, but it isn’t really. She has a huge heart, an enormous, self-sacrificing sense of responsibility to take care of others. That is why she is here.
The years of taking care of our special needs children, of nursing her mother’s mental health to the point where she can now live in her own apartment, even to seeing to my needs, has often been at the expense of her own desires.
She has recently had a taste of freedom, stealing moments of pleasure and having someone focus entirely on her. I have demanded she walk away from that open door in order for her to satisfy her need to complete the obligations she took on in adopting our children.
Some of the things I have written here are harsh. I am pointing out flaws in my wife that are very unflattering. So, to be fair, I need to point out that I have not been overly kind in this situation. I am being demanding, drawing firm lines, boundaries. Even though those demarcations are for the purpose of restoring my marriage, it is important to recall a few things. I wanted our marriage to survive, and I am getting what I want (or at least it appears so). I am getting concessions from another person through her sense of obligation and responsibility. In a sense I am taking advantage of good and noble traits in her to gain what I could not from her freely. In other words, I am taking another person’s freedom to get something I want. Perhaps I am not as kind as I would like to believe.
While I have been typing this post she has been bustling about, fixing a supper for the boys and I. She is cheerful now. Is it real? Does she feel a little happiness in serving us a meal? Is she making the best of it? Has she simply moved out of her love lorn funk?
She and I just stepped outside, played with the dog in the yard under a clear but cold Oregon night sky ruled by a full moon. Silly dog loves to play with that binky of his that squeaks as he bites it.
She does seem sincerely more cheerful. As I type this post she is responding to an Email from a church friend, a no nonsense woman who tries to be loving while telling it like it is (thank you CN).
Humans are fickle creatures. Perhaps women even more so. Hmmmm... probably get some flak for that statement. I suppose from my perspective women are ruled by emotions more than men, so they seem to be more mercurial.
I have tried to be a steady person, holding true to what I believe, even in trying times.
But I know men can be pretty fickle too. My father is a good example. I believe he has given up on marriage. Five of them was enough. Now he keeps various girlfriends in various parts of the world and doesn’t worry too much about steadiness.
And I know of other men who are as unsteady as the heart of my wife.
I suppose I was more on target with the first statement: “Humans are fickle creatures.”
And the Lord God, creator of all things, of galactic super clusters gonging 42 octaves below middle C every few thousand years and of the lady bugs I release in my garden each year, loves us despite the fickleness of human hearts. The Lord God, maker of ancient mountains and fleeting rainbows, loves us though we are cast our love to every changing breeze.
I have been frustrated over the infidelities of a single human heart. How much greater must be the patience of such a being as The Creator who watches His creations made in His likeness chase after phantom pleasures?
I suppose I am glad with what he has given me and am willing to continue in obedience to the tasks He set me to. I can be happy in that.
I think I understand.
When she came back I made demands on what she must do if she were to stay.
She had left, I thought for good. After a night of comforting my children morning found me checking on each of them.
Isaac was upset. He wanted to talk to her.
He had asked to talk to her eleven years ago when she had run off the first time. His crying for her had brought her back. Afterwards, her resentment showed in her interactions with him for a long time.
I didn’t want that to happen again, but he was desperate to talk to her. I sent her a text message. If she called it was because she felt like talking, not because I had put him on the phone. She called. The boys answered, came and told me she was coming over in a few hours.
She came. The boys cried, her heart melted, she said she would stay. I cautioned the boys we had things to work out first.
I had demands on what she must do if she were to stay.
I told her that there could be no more deceit, no more loopholes, no more half measures.
I told her she must break off all contact with the other man.
I told her she must remove the temptations which invite her to stray. She agreed to give up her disposable cell phone and seek another job.
I told her she must work on our marriage, not as a stop gap to buy time but with the goal of building a marriage that would last another 26 years. She agreed.
Yesterday she kept busy. She cooked a Thanksgiving Day meal, just for the four of us (well, Rocky got a little too).
Today she wasn’t so busy. She fell into a depression. Over the course of the day I watched it turn into resentment.
She is unhappy. She feels guilt. She feels the desire to eat more of forbidden fruit. She feels she is a slut. She feels unbeautiful.
“How ya doing?” I asked.
“All right for someone is spending her life serving other people who can’t help themselves.”
That sounds bad, but it isn’t really. She has a huge heart, an enormous, self-sacrificing sense of responsibility to take care of others. That is why she is here.
The years of taking care of our special needs children, of nursing her mother’s mental health to the point where she can now live in her own apartment, even to seeing to my needs, has often been at the expense of her own desires.
She has recently had a taste of freedom, stealing moments of pleasure and having someone focus entirely on her. I have demanded she walk away from that open door in order for her to satisfy her need to complete the obligations she took on in adopting our children.
Some of the things I have written here are harsh. I am pointing out flaws in my wife that are very unflattering. So, to be fair, I need to point out that I have not been overly kind in this situation. I am being demanding, drawing firm lines, boundaries. Even though those demarcations are for the purpose of restoring my marriage, it is important to recall a few things. I wanted our marriage to survive, and I am getting what I want (or at least it appears so). I am getting concessions from another person through her sense of obligation and responsibility. In a sense I am taking advantage of good and noble traits in her to gain what I could not from her freely. In other words, I am taking another person’s freedom to get something I want. Perhaps I am not as kind as I would like to believe.
While I have been typing this post she has been bustling about, fixing a supper for the boys and I. She is cheerful now. Is it real? Does she feel a little happiness in serving us a meal? Is she making the best of it? Has she simply moved out of her love lorn funk?
She and I just stepped outside, played with the dog in the yard under a clear but cold Oregon night sky ruled by a full moon. Silly dog loves to play with that binky of his that squeaks as he bites it.
She does seem sincerely more cheerful. As I type this post she is responding to an Email from a church friend, a no nonsense woman who tries to be loving while telling it like it is (thank you CN).
Humans are fickle creatures. Perhaps women even more so. Hmmmm... probably get some flak for that statement. I suppose from my perspective women are ruled by emotions more than men, so they seem to be more mercurial.
I have tried to be a steady person, holding true to what I believe, even in trying times.
But I know men can be pretty fickle too. My father is a good example. I believe he has given up on marriage. Five of them was enough. Now he keeps various girlfriends in various parts of the world and doesn’t worry too much about steadiness.
And I know of other men who are as unsteady as the heart of my wife.
I suppose I was more on target with the first statement: “Humans are fickle creatures.”
And the Lord God, creator of all things, of galactic super clusters gonging 42 octaves below middle C every few thousand years and of the lady bugs I release in my garden each year, loves us despite the fickleness of human hearts. The Lord God, maker of ancient mountains and fleeting rainbows, loves us though we are cast our love to every changing breeze.
I have been frustrated over the infidelities of a single human heart. How much greater must be the patience of such a being as The Creator who watches His creations made in His likeness chase after phantom pleasures?
I suppose I am glad with what he has given me and am willing to continue in obedience to the tasks He set me to. I can be happy in that.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Happy Anniversary/Thanksgiving
Today is our anniversary. Twenty six years.
Yesterday morning I was comforting my sobbing son Isaac, telling him not to think that he had anything to do with Brenda leaving us. He said he wanted to talk to her. So I sent her a text message and she called back, saying she was coming over in a few hours.
My friend and pastor came over, gave my sobbing children hugs and prayed for them. He left.
She showed up.
Isaac begged her to come back. She said she would. I said we needed to work some things out first.
We went off to talk. She said she couldn't leave. I told her that I didn’t see how we can rebuild the broken trust between us.
She didn’t beg or plead. She did mumble a “sorry.”
I told her that if she were to stay that we could not continue the way things have been. There isn’t room for three in our bed.
I told her that if she did stay she would have to find ways to remove temptation and make me feel comfortable enough to try to trust her. Working at the same place as him and having a disposable cell phone which keeps no records of her calls were two things that made it easier for her to sneak around.
“Beyond what this does to me, what it does to us, being secretive and sneaky is not good for you. You need to live an open honest life.”
She slid her cell phone across the table to me.
“I don’t want to take this. It’s like I’m your daddy or something and am punishing you by taking away your phone.”
“You aren’t taking it, I’m giving it.”
She says she will not contact this man again.
She says she will seek another job.
Though I was reluctant to do so, I agreed. How can I refuse her when I made a vow to love and cherish her always? I must forgive her. I must take her back. Even though she spent the previous night with another man.
I knew I must at least do all I can to make this work.
So I emailed him at work:
Subject: Brenda
John:
The hiding and sneaking must end.
I love my wife. I want to help her as best I can. I want her to be happy and am willing to do anything to make that happen.
But we cannot move on with you in the picture.
When she tries to follow her two hearts she is miserable, unhappy. Hiding in shadows is not healthy for her. It places her in a position of living a lie.
If she chooses you, then that is at will be. I will permit that.
But if she chooses to stay, then she must live a life that is not about hiding in shadows, stealing moments, stealing integrity.
I suspect you may not be a man of integrity, since you have fostered this double life in her.
If she chooses to stay with you, fine. But if she makes a choice to come home and love our children and work on finding the happiness I know she can find if she will deal with the deep hurts she carries, I will do all in my power to help her.
I will also do all in my power to make this relationship with you a clean break.
That is my biggest concern for her. That her continued duplicity will eat away at her soul. So I am asking you... If you have any sense of right and wrong, if you have any integrity, do not continue a relationship with a woman who is trying to repair the damage done in her home. Making love to a woman with a wedding ring is wrong.
I would never do such a thing. I pray that you would see that it is hurting her (and others as well).
If she chooses to break it off, make it easy for her to stay true to that choice. I will do the same.
If it comes to it, I am willing to meet with you and discuss this rationally.
In anger, frustration, forgiveness, and love,
Will Greenleaf
So there it is. It is Thanksgiving. A day for counting our blessings and being grateful. It is also our anniversay. I have mixed feelings about both.
May the next 26 years will be better than the last.
Yesterday morning I was comforting my sobbing son Isaac, telling him not to think that he had anything to do with Brenda leaving us. He said he wanted to talk to her. So I sent her a text message and she called back, saying she was coming over in a few hours.
My friend and pastor came over, gave my sobbing children hugs and prayed for them. He left.
She showed up.
Isaac begged her to come back. She said she would. I said we needed to work some things out first.
We went off to talk. She said she couldn't leave. I told her that I didn’t see how we can rebuild the broken trust between us.
She didn’t beg or plead. She did mumble a “sorry.”
I told her that if she were to stay that we could not continue the way things have been. There isn’t room for three in our bed.
I told her that if she did stay she would have to find ways to remove temptation and make me feel comfortable enough to try to trust her. Working at the same place as him and having a disposable cell phone which keeps no records of her calls were two things that made it easier for her to sneak around.
“Beyond what this does to me, what it does to us, being secretive and sneaky is not good for you. You need to live an open honest life.”
She slid her cell phone across the table to me.
“I don’t want to take this. It’s like I’m your daddy or something and am punishing you by taking away your phone.”
“You aren’t taking it, I’m giving it.”
She says she will not contact this man again.
She says she will seek another job.
Though I was reluctant to do so, I agreed. How can I refuse her when I made a vow to love and cherish her always? I must forgive her. I must take her back. Even though she spent the previous night with another man.
I knew I must at least do all I can to make this work.
So I emailed him at work:
Subject: Brenda
John:
The hiding and sneaking must end.
I love my wife. I want to help her as best I can. I want her to be happy and am willing to do anything to make that happen.
But we cannot move on with you in the picture.
When she tries to follow her two hearts she is miserable, unhappy. Hiding in shadows is not healthy for her. It places her in a position of living a lie.
If she chooses you, then that is at will be. I will permit that.
But if she chooses to stay, then she must live a life that is not about hiding in shadows, stealing moments, stealing integrity.
I suspect you may not be a man of integrity, since you have fostered this double life in her.
If she chooses to stay with you, fine. But if she makes a choice to come home and love our children and work on finding the happiness I know she can find if she will deal with the deep hurts she carries, I will do all in my power to help her.
I will also do all in my power to make this relationship with you a clean break.
That is my biggest concern for her. That her continued duplicity will eat away at her soul. So I am asking you... If you have any sense of right and wrong, if you have any integrity, do not continue a relationship with a woman who is trying to repair the damage done in her home. Making love to a woman with a wedding ring is wrong.
I would never do such a thing. I pray that you would see that it is hurting her (and others as well).
If she chooses to break it off, make it easy for her to stay true to that choice. I will do the same.
If it comes to it, I am willing to meet with you and discuss this rationally.
In anger, frustration, forgiveness, and love,
Will Greenleaf
So there it is. It is Thanksgiving. A day for counting our blessings and being grateful. It is also our anniversay. I have mixed feelings about both.
May the next 26 years will be better than the last.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Gone
She left.
She moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer, told the boys what was happening, and left.
In a way it is a relief.
No more suspicions. No more wondering. No more trying to heal her hurts.
I will continue to pray for her.
Right now I am busy comforting my children. That is going to keep me busy for some time.
I was praying with them, as I do each night, when I heard the car start up and drive away.
An hour ago I went out to catch up with her on her walk with our dog at the park. She was on her cell phone, talking, laughing. She hung up quickly when she saw me. With a few deft clicks she deleted the number.
A few moments later her confession made things clear.
She tried to tell me how hard she tried. Tried to tell me that it was her fault, not the man I said lacks integrity.
Isaac cried bitterly tonight. Huge racking sobs.
“This hurts so bad,” he told me. “Worse than when I cut myself. This hurts deep down inside.”
“I know. And it will hurt for a very long time,” I told him. “But you will somehow eventually fall asleep tonight. And you will wake up, and suddenly remember what has happened, and it will hurt all over again. But we will go through our day, and I will come up here again to talk and pray with you, and you will fall asleep. You will continue to sleep and wake and slowly this hurt won’t be so bad. You won’t forget this. It will always be a part of you. But the hurt will get less and I will always love you. I will help you and I will be there...”
I stayed with him for a while. He asked for a special prayer and I did my very best. He asked me to pray for Brenda, and again I gave my best, praying for her, blessing her, asking the Lord to protect her and to help her find healing and peace. He asked me to call our pastor and make an appointment for him to talk to our church’s shepherd. I did that.
I found her credit cards on the kitchen table, her reassurance that she was not going to hurt us financially.
The dog has been wandering the house, whining.
And I’m sitting here in bed, tapping at this keyboard watching Mike Rowe attempt the dirtiest jobs in the country while I try to let my heart settle.
I’ve been awake since 4:30 this morning and it is now 11:00 p.m. Perhaps I should try to get some sleep.
She moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer, told the boys what was happening, and left.
In a way it is a relief.
No more suspicions. No more wondering. No more trying to heal her hurts.
I will continue to pray for her.
Right now I am busy comforting my children. That is going to keep me busy for some time.
I was praying with them, as I do each night, when I heard the car start up and drive away.
An hour ago I went out to catch up with her on her walk with our dog at the park. She was on her cell phone, talking, laughing. She hung up quickly when she saw me. With a few deft clicks she deleted the number.
A few moments later her confession made things clear.
She tried to tell me how hard she tried. Tried to tell me that it was her fault, not the man I said lacks integrity.
Isaac cried bitterly tonight. Huge racking sobs.
“This hurts so bad,” he told me. “Worse than when I cut myself. This hurts deep down inside.”
“I know. And it will hurt for a very long time,” I told him. “But you will somehow eventually fall asleep tonight. And you will wake up, and suddenly remember what has happened, and it will hurt all over again. But we will go through our day, and I will come up here again to talk and pray with you, and you will fall asleep. You will continue to sleep and wake and slowly this hurt won’t be so bad. You won’t forget this. It will always be a part of you. But the hurt will get less and I will always love you. I will help you and I will be there...”
I stayed with him for a while. He asked for a special prayer and I did my very best. He asked me to pray for Brenda, and again I gave my best, praying for her, blessing her, asking the Lord to protect her and to help her find healing and peace. He asked me to call our pastor and make an appointment for him to talk to our church’s shepherd. I did that.
I found her credit cards on the kitchen table, her reassurance that she was not going to hurt us financially.
The dog has been wandering the house, whining.
And I’m sitting here in bed, tapping at this keyboard watching Mike Rowe attempt the dirtiest jobs in the country while I try to let my heart settle.
I’ve been awake since 4:30 this morning and it is now 11:00 p.m. Perhaps I should try to get some sleep.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Dreaming
“I’m not evil.”
The words awoke me as they left my mouth.
Brenda stirred, awakened by my strange statement in the middle of the night.
“You’re not evil. You’re a good man.”
It was comforting. Comforting words from her have been rare.
That afternoon she told my I am "too good."
“You can’t be too good,” I said.
“Yes you can.”
“No, you can’t be too good. And I’m certainly not too good. I have far too many flaws, have made too many mistakes.”
“No you haven’t, and you are too good.”
Is that possible? It isn’t a matter of being perfect. Only one man achieved that. But perhaps I have made her feel she is worse than she is by my hesitations in drinking, partying, by seeking to be obedient.
Lately we have been going to a local tavern for pool and beer. It has been fun. Somewhat.
I had another dream last night.
I was in charge of a new construction work site. There was a house nearly finished, and I noticed water bubbling from the soil under the foundation. It began to stream down the little hill, turning the dirt to mud.
I grabbed a shovel and started digging, seeking the pipe that was leaking.
The water picked up in volume, the dirt churning away. There were lumps in the water, I realized it was a broken septic line.
I kept digging, searching for the broken clay pipe, the four inch line that was gushing water, tissues, brown lumps around my feet.
The stream became a flood. It rose up around me as I dug quickly, trying to find its source so I could replace the defective plumbing. I was knee deep in shit.
I understand most people don’t recall their dreams very well. I remember them just about as well as my waking life. I remember the colors, realistic colors or the occasional filtered colors of particularly odd dreams. I remember sounds, textures, smells.
Such as the smell of being knee deep in shit.
I’ve a very active dream life. Nearly every night I take strange excursions through my subconscious, granting the metaphors of my mind temporary imitation life.
Dreams have a quality, a texture, that makes them feel different from reality. Well, most of the time anyway. These past couple of months have seemed like an awful dream. It has been the unreal quality of a mental disconnect, of realizing what seemed impossible is actually the truth. That sense of the unreal is wearing off.
We know what is life, because life seems real. It seems like... work.
I think we are going to stay together. If we can find a way to forgive each other, build each other up.
A dream usually does not feel like effort. This feels like effort. It is effort. I fake trust. I hope someday it will be more than that.
Today we had the dedication of our new church building. Finally we will move beyond the chapter of our lives which contained the charred remains of the old building, the deep excavation and framing and furnishing of the building, beyond the gushing glee of my church family in their happiness of a fresh new building, and onto the gentle work of using this new framework of a physical building to do His work.
There are two women in particular who have helped us during this awful, dreamlike chapter. They didn’t tell us how we should feel. They didn’t tell us to “get over it.” Instead, they listened. They heard.
I am grateful to these two sisters in Christ who knew how to help us in a small way.
So, I’m waking up to the uncomfortable situation of life today. I see I am knee deep in shit.
I’ll just have to grab the shovel and go to work on what's broken.
The words awoke me as they left my mouth.
Brenda stirred, awakened by my strange statement in the middle of the night.
“You’re not evil. You’re a good man.”
It was comforting. Comforting words from her have been rare.
That afternoon she told my I am "too good."
“You can’t be too good,” I said.
“Yes you can.”
“No, you can’t be too good. And I’m certainly not too good. I have far too many flaws, have made too many mistakes.”
“No you haven’t, and you are too good.”
Is that possible? It isn’t a matter of being perfect. Only one man achieved that. But perhaps I have made her feel she is worse than she is by my hesitations in drinking, partying, by seeking to be obedient.
Lately we have been going to a local tavern for pool and beer. It has been fun. Somewhat.
I had another dream last night.
I was in charge of a new construction work site. There was a house nearly finished, and I noticed water bubbling from the soil under the foundation. It began to stream down the little hill, turning the dirt to mud.
I grabbed a shovel and started digging, seeking the pipe that was leaking.
The water picked up in volume, the dirt churning away. There were lumps in the water, I realized it was a broken septic line.
I kept digging, searching for the broken clay pipe, the four inch line that was gushing water, tissues, brown lumps around my feet.
The stream became a flood. It rose up around me as I dug quickly, trying to find its source so I could replace the defective plumbing. I was knee deep in shit.
I understand most people don’t recall their dreams very well. I remember them just about as well as my waking life. I remember the colors, realistic colors or the occasional filtered colors of particularly odd dreams. I remember sounds, textures, smells.
Such as the smell of being knee deep in shit.
I’ve a very active dream life. Nearly every night I take strange excursions through my subconscious, granting the metaphors of my mind temporary imitation life.
Dreams have a quality, a texture, that makes them feel different from reality. Well, most of the time anyway. These past couple of months have seemed like an awful dream. It has been the unreal quality of a mental disconnect, of realizing what seemed impossible is actually the truth. That sense of the unreal is wearing off.
We know what is life, because life seems real. It seems like... work.
I think we are going to stay together. If we can find a way to forgive each other, build each other up.
A dream usually does not feel like effort. This feels like effort. It is effort. I fake trust. I hope someday it will be more than that.
Today we had the dedication of our new church building. Finally we will move beyond the chapter of our lives which contained the charred remains of the old building, the deep excavation and framing and furnishing of the building, beyond the gushing glee of my church family in their happiness of a fresh new building, and onto the gentle work of using this new framework of a physical building to do His work.
There are two women in particular who have helped us during this awful, dreamlike chapter. They didn’t tell us how we should feel. They didn’t tell us to “get over it.” Instead, they listened. They heard.
I am grateful to these two sisters in Christ who knew how to help us in a small way.
So, I’m waking up to the uncomfortable situation of life today. I see I am knee deep in shit.
I’ll just have to grab the shovel and go to work on what's broken.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Quick Update
I think things are healing... but Brenda is so deeply hurt that her staying means a lot of work for the two of us.
I'm unsure of myself... what actions to take, what actions not to take...
We need to learn to communicate in new ways.
We need to find joy... in life, in each other, in ourselves.
Joy is very far from this home right now.
I was unable to go to the counseling session this week, but Brenda went. I was at a conference.
I'm a little ticked at the counselor, though the result of the last session I was there we did make a little progress. I felt like a little kid, the way he made me apologize to Brenda for going to her work to see if he was there.
But I can handle that small knock at my ego. Been through worse.
Brenda has health concerns right now. There is a fibrous tumor in her uterus, and a hemmoraghic cyst on an ovary. Her doctors do not hink it is cancer, and are checking bloodwork and have nother ultrasound to monitor it.
I guess I feel pretty bruised... unsure of myself... confused.
Just letting y'all know...
I'm unsure of myself... what actions to take, what actions not to take...
We need to learn to communicate in new ways.
We need to find joy... in life, in each other, in ourselves.
Joy is very far from this home right now.
I was unable to go to the counseling session this week, but Brenda went. I was at a conference.
I'm a little ticked at the counselor, though the result of the last session I was there we did make a little progress. I felt like a little kid, the way he made me apologize to Brenda for going to her work to see if he was there.
But I can handle that small knock at my ego. Been through worse.
Brenda has health concerns right now. There is a fibrous tumor in her uterus, and a hemmoraghic cyst on an ovary. Her doctors do not hink it is cancer, and are checking bloodwork and have nother ultrasound to monitor it.
I guess I feel pretty bruised... unsure of myself... confused.
Just letting y'all know...
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Lost Serenity
Tuesday, before dawn I was walking and praying in the cemetary. The solitude and serenity steadied my heart. At one end of the cemetary is a grove of old douglas firs.
“Whooooo! Who whoooo whoo whoo oooooooooo?”
I hadn’t heard the owl there before. I paused beside the trees, waiting to hear him call again.
Silence.
The trees loomed dark in the fog. I could not see him; I’m sure he could see me just fine.
He remaiined silent, waiting for me to move on.
Halfway around the cemetary I heard him start up again.
It is important for me to get away like that, to walk, to think, to pray.
I’ve been doing a lot of praying lately.
I think I may be forced to make a choice I do not wish to make. I may have to divorce.
The owl felt a little like my Heavenly Father. I know he was there, above me in the darkness. Though I waited to hear his voice, he was silent for the time being.
I went to the cemetary again this morning.
The solitude and serenity were gone.
Across the street a large development is under way, a new industrial complex. Generators were grunting loudly as they powered large lights scattered all over the site. A string of concrete trucks were roaring in and out, dumping their loads before crews of shouting men.
The owl was not in the grove of trees.
Such construction isn’t unfamiliar to me. I grew up working with my dad with heavy equipment. He bought a track loader when I was in middle school. It was good timing for him.
At the time Orange County, California was mainly rural. Bean fields, orange groves, avacados... The towns were separated from each other with large farms divided in neat huge squares laid out on the flood plain of the Santa Ana river.
Pushing over trees and houses for developments his company grew with the area. Medium sized towns became cities which pressed through the farms and bumped up to each other. Today cities there are divided by large boulevards, not by colored patches of groves and fields. Small towns and communities generally faded away under the pressure of neighboring incorporated cities. The towns of Olive, the communities of Red Hill and Sleepy Hollow have disappeared.
I fled the growth of the megopolis when I was a teen. I hitch hiked all over the west. I hiked through Yosemite and the Pacific Crest Trail. I discovered Oregon and found a place where it isn’t hard to find rural spaces.
I resent the growth of my current home town. I resent the noise of heavy equipment which disturbs my prayers and suggests to the owl that he move elsewhere.
I need the strength and serenity my prayers give me. Especially now.
Brenda thinks God cruel. Or nonexistent.
She resent going to church.
Last Sunday, the sermon was on how God Answers prayers. Just into the second worship song, she slipped me a note:
I understand, though don't share, her feelings. We were unable to have children. The first child we adopted died. The second two are disabled. She feels God is capricious, or worse.
Today I we are going to the counselor. I will ask if she has continued to have contact with that other man. If she cannot find a way to work with me on rebuilding this marriage, I will have to seek legal advice.
What a mess.
I pray the Lord gives me wisdom and strength.
I pray that he answers me out of the darkness.
Half way around the cemetary this morning, as far from the connstruction as was possible, there were three old douglas firs standing sentry. As I approached them I heard the owl. He had moved a little ways off, just to a point where the intrusion of the noise from men and machines wasn’t so bad.
Lord, I am drawing away, as best I can, from the noise in my life.
Please answer me, tell me what to do.
“Whooooo! Who whoooo whoo whoo oooooooooo?”
I hadn’t heard the owl there before. I paused beside the trees, waiting to hear him call again.
Silence.
The trees loomed dark in the fog. I could not see him; I’m sure he could see me just fine.
He remaiined silent, waiting for me to move on.
Halfway around the cemetary I heard him start up again.
It is important for me to get away like that, to walk, to think, to pray.
I’ve been doing a lot of praying lately.
I think I may be forced to make a choice I do not wish to make. I may have to divorce.
The owl felt a little like my Heavenly Father. I know he was there, above me in the darkness. Though I waited to hear his voice, he was silent for the time being.
I went to the cemetary again this morning.
The solitude and serenity were gone.
Across the street a large development is under way, a new industrial complex. Generators were grunting loudly as they powered large lights scattered all over the site. A string of concrete trucks were roaring in and out, dumping their loads before crews of shouting men.
The owl was not in the grove of trees.
Such construction isn’t unfamiliar to me. I grew up working with my dad with heavy equipment. He bought a track loader when I was in middle school. It was good timing for him.
At the time Orange County, California was mainly rural. Bean fields, orange groves, avacados... The towns were separated from each other with large farms divided in neat huge squares laid out on the flood plain of the Santa Ana river.
Pushing over trees and houses for developments his company grew with the area. Medium sized towns became cities which pressed through the farms and bumped up to each other. Today cities there are divided by large boulevards, not by colored patches of groves and fields. Small towns and communities generally faded away under the pressure of neighboring incorporated cities. The towns of Olive, the communities of Red Hill and Sleepy Hollow have disappeared.
I fled the growth of the megopolis when I was a teen. I hitch hiked all over the west. I hiked through Yosemite and the Pacific Crest Trail. I discovered Oregon and found a place where it isn’t hard to find rural spaces.
I resent the growth of my current home town. I resent the noise of heavy equipment which disturbs my prayers and suggests to the owl that he move elsewhere.
I need the strength and serenity my prayers give me. Especially now.
Brenda thinks God cruel. Or nonexistent.
She resent going to church.
Last Sunday, the sermon was on how God Answers prayers. Just into the second worship song, she slipped me a note:
I understand, though don't share, her feelings. We were unable to have children. The first child we adopted died. The second two are disabled. She feels God is capricious, or worse.
Today I we are going to the counselor. I will ask if she has continued to have contact with that other man. If she cannot find a way to work with me on rebuilding this marriage, I will have to seek legal advice.
What a mess.
I pray the Lord gives me wisdom and strength.
I pray that he answers me out of the darkness.
Half way around the cemetary this morning, as far from the connstruction as was possible, there were three old douglas firs standing sentry. As I approached them I heard the owl. He had moved a little ways off, just to a point where the intrusion of the noise from men and machines wasn’t so bad.
Lord, I am drawing away, as best I can, from the noise in my life.
Please answer me, tell me what to do.
----------------------
Post Counseling Update: It was rough. And it was mostly my fault. I walked in with suspicions and jealousy. I asked her if she has had contact with the other man, and she said she hasn't. It had the ring of truth to it.
The counselor pointed out that the agreement we had was not that she would work on the marriage. It was that she would go to counseling, hold open the possibility that we can work it out, and that she would not have contact with the other man. She has kept to that bargain.
I had interpreted things differently. My fault.
At one point, once again, we agreed to a divorce. That has been shelved, again.
She pointed out that I can be manipulative in the way I argue my points, pushing emotional buttons. I pointed out certain flaws in her as well. But those flaws are not the point. I need to be careful in how I interpret things, that I be honest not only with her , but with myself. That is where I frequently fail. I reinterpret events in my mind and spin them towards the outcomes I wish them to be. I need to be a realist.
I tend to be an optimist and see things in a better light than they are.
I apologized for my actions of yesterday, going to her work to see if I could catch her with the other man. It was wrong. I need to trust until it is proven otherwise.
This whole mess is one of the most difficult things I have gone through. Going through. I need to trust that God is in control. That He loves her more than I do. That I need to continue to be patient and loving.
Hard work.
Thank you, all of you, for your payers.
I am grateful.
love,
Will
Post Counseling Update: It was rough. And it was mostly my fault. I walked in with suspicions and jealousy. I asked her if she has had contact with the other man, and she said she hasn't. It had the ring of truth to it.
The counselor pointed out that the agreement we had was not that she would work on the marriage. It was that she would go to counseling, hold open the possibility that we can work it out, and that she would not have contact with the other man. She has kept to that bargain.
I had interpreted things differently. My fault.
At one point, once again, we agreed to a divorce. That has been shelved, again.
She pointed out that I can be manipulative in the way I argue my points, pushing emotional buttons. I pointed out certain flaws in her as well. But those flaws are not the point. I need to be careful in how I interpret things, that I be honest not only with her , but with myself. That is where I frequently fail. I reinterpret events in my mind and spin them towards the outcomes I wish them to be. I need to be a realist.
I tend to be an optimist and see things in a better light than they are.
I apologized for my actions of yesterday, going to her work to see if I could catch her with the other man. It was wrong. I need to trust until it is proven otherwise.
This whole mess is one of the most difficult things I have gone through. Going through. I need to trust that God is in control. That He loves her more than I do. That I need to continue to be patient and loving.
Hard work.
Thank you, all of you, for your payers.
I am grateful.
love,
Will
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Why Life Sucks
You’re selfish.
So am I.
We all are.
It is our nature.
We are born being the center of the universe. Every need we have must be met by others taking care of it. We need feeding, someone else must do it. We cannot change our soiled clothing, we cannot earn, catch, or grow our own food. We are born tiny, helpless, and demanding.
That gradually changes as we learn to play alongside others, then with others, then in teams. The process of looking beyond ourselves takes many years.
I teach middle school children. Human beings who are still quite self-centered. It is also ann age when they begin to see a larger world and wonder if they can affect it.
We may be alone in this.
The Bible says little about the nature of eternal beings, but we can surmise a little.
They are creatures formed and existing in realms without the constraints of this strange three dimensional realm.
They exist in a place where omniscience and omnipresence is continually demonstrated. A realm where temptation is simply not a part of their fabric of being.
The human condition is quite different.
“What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust?” --Hamlet
Just as Hamlet struggles to know what is the right action to take, each of us struggles with our own natures.
We are animals. We seek shelter, food, resources, mates.
We are divine. We bear eternal souls that cry out for the freedom to simply be good, to rise above our base natures and enter a love that is pure, selfless, good.
I struggle with my own nature.
I sin. I think of myself before others far too often. I think of myself before I think about the love my creator gives me. I think of myself as I weigh my marriage in a balance.
Tomorrow we have another counseling session. I expect it to be rough.
I believe that my wife is not keeping her side of the bargain we struck a few weeks ago. I believe she has not kept herself away from that other man.
It was an ultimatum I gave her. I demanded she choose. It appears that she is unable to choose. That means I must.
I fear the decision I am being forced to make.
I think...
I think I will have to hire a lawyer.
Am I being selfish?
I would give her what time she needs, what resources she needs, to return to our home and rebuild our marriage.
If she wants to do the work that is needed to rebuild what has been destroyed... I also understand how we each seek what seems best for ourselves.
Butt a bridge across any rough water needs to be supported from each side.
Lord have mercy. Guide me... help me to rise above my animal nature and do justice for her, for us.
-----------------------
Well... it is much later than when I wrote this post. I did something stupid. I skipped out on a staff meeting and went to spy on my wife.
I thought he would show up at the end of her day. He didn’t. She saw me walking around the building a few minutes before she got off. (She didn’t see me in the adjoining computer lab, emailing a buddy for 45 minutes, keeping a jealous eye out for another man and proof of further infidelities).
We went to a bar and talked, and drank, and shot some pool.
Tomorrow is our counseling session. I suspect it is going to be a rough one as I plan on confronting her with my suspicions that she has not been true to her word of avoiding this other man. Not a shocker. Why should a promise made in counseling have more weight than our wedding vows?
Well... going to go. I’m tired. I am tired of so many things. My patience is wearing thin.
Lord have mercy.
note: I wrote this off the cuff, no rereading or polishing. If I have stumbled and offended, I aplogize. I'm in a bad splace emotionally. I've been thinking about divirce (sorry Ann). who knows what the future will breing. (I suppose He does.)
So am I.
We all are.
It is our nature.
We are born being the center of the universe. Every need we have must be met by others taking care of it. We need feeding, someone else must do it. We cannot change our soiled clothing, we cannot earn, catch, or grow our own food. We are born tiny, helpless, and demanding.
That gradually changes as we learn to play alongside others, then with others, then in teams. The process of looking beyond ourselves takes many years.
I teach middle school children. Human beings who are still quite self-centered. It is also ann age when they begin to see a larger world and wonder if they can affect it.
We may be alone in this.
The Bible says little about the nature of eternal beings, but we can surmise a little.
They are creatures formed and existing in realms without the constraints of this strange three dimensional realm.
They exist in a place where omniscience and omnipresence is continually demonstrated. A realm where temptation is simply not a part of their fabric of being.
The human condition is quite different.
“What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust?” --Hamlet
Just as Hamlet struggles to know what is the right action to take, each of us struggles with our own natures.
We are animals. We seek shelter, food, resources, mates.
We are divine. We bear eternal souls that cry out for the freedom to simply be good, to rise above our base natures and enter a love that is pure, selfless, good.
I struggle with my own nature.
I sin. I think of myself before others far too often. I think of myself before I think about the love my creator gives me. I think of myself as I weigh my marriage in a balance.
Tomorrow we have another counseling session. I expect it to be rough.
I believe that my wife is not keeping her side of the bargain we struck a few weeks ago. I believe she has not kept herself away from that other man.
It was an ultimatum I gave her. I demanded she choose. It appears that she is unable to choose. That means I must.
I fear the decision I am being forced to make.
I think...
I think I will have to hire a lawyer.
Am I being selfish?
I would give her what time she needs, what resources she needs, to return to our home and rebuild our marriage.
If she wants to do the work that is needed to rebuild what has been destroyed... I also understand how we each seek what seems best for ourselves.
Butt a bridge across any rough water needs to be supported from each side.
Lord have mercy. Guide me... help me to rise above my animal nature and do justice for her, for us.
That is why life sucks. We are half animal. Blessed with minds and souls and crass cravings.
-----------------------
Well... it is much later than when I wrote this post. I did something stupid. I skipped out on a staff meeting and went to spy on my wife.
I thought he would show up at the end of her day. He didn’t. She saw me walking around the building a few minutes before she got off. (She didn’t see me in the adjoining computer lab, emailing a buddy for 45 minutes, keeping a jealous eye out for another man and proof of further infidelities).
We went to a bar and talked, and drank, and shot some pool.
Tomorrow is our counseling session. I suspect it is going to be a rough one as I plan on confronting her with my suspicions that she has not been true to her word of avoiding this other man. Not a shocker. Why should a promise made in counseling have more weight than our wedding vows?
Well... going to go. I’m tired. I am tired of so many things. My patience is wearing thin.
Lord have mercy.
-----------------
note: I wrote this off the cuff, no rereading or polishing. If I have stumbled and offended, I aplogize. I'm in a bad splace emotionally. I've been thinking about divirce (sorry Ann). who knows what the future will breing. (I suppose He does.)
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Turning to Good
Today was the fourth Sunday in our new building.
It is pretty nice. It is comfortable, clean, very... nice.
I hear that there are a lot of new faces in the seats.
Somethings haven’t changed much. Many of us still sit in the same places, as if the chairs and the people in them hadn’t moved, while the building transformed itself around them.
My seat
I think people are moving after all. Perhaps the movement around us is helping us to move a little on the inside. Toward Him.
My wife and I have been pretty focussed on our own lives (more about that later). But between those myopic moments when I see nothing beyond my own yard, I see signs of promise in our new church.
For example, I got this in an email from a friend:
Though the new construction has been an immense source of pain for you, many people are finding the new facility a blessing. Over 300 attended the concert Monday pm. People raved about the acoustics of the room, including the 2 musicians who were enthusiastically impressed (sounds better in here than it did at Carnegie Hall after they hauled in $30,000 worth of extra sound equipment for our concert!). For the 1st time in my 20+ years here I have an office big enough to hold groups of people for leadership meetings, staff meetings, Bible studies, etc. For the 1st time ever people stick their head in the door, look around & say “wow, nice office.” I NEVER heard that before. It’s cool to see the youth in their new youth center Sunday mornings & evenings – they are jazzed. I could go on & on. Oh yeah, this is a big one, the new office area, big enough to hold all of us so we have a sense of community, 1st time for that as well. If Satan meant to inspire Jeremiah to do something bad, God has certainly turned it around for good for CAC.
That last part is interesting... “turning it around for good”...
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. --Romans 8:28
The old building, with the ancient wiring and undiscovered termite shelter is gone. In its place is a clean, safe, welcoming place. It’s modern enough that young families sit in a space which connects to their own sense of architecture and style. Comfortable enough that old timers feel a sense of invigorating freshness.
There is a reminder of the old sanctuary in the cross hanging on the wall. Large laminate beams supported the vaulted ceiling in the old building. A friend of mine, a craftsman wood worker, reshaped a beam or two into this cross. He selected beams which had been partially charred by the fire that swept through. The burn marks are centered, fading out at the arms’ ends. The symbolism is unmistakable.
The cross bears our sins. All of our sins. The heat and destruction of our selfish acts chars the intersection between God and man. But it does not overwhelm. All our sins fit easily upon the great symbol of God’s love and sacrifice.
That fire burned a lot more than a building of course.
It set a fire in my own home that chewed its way through us all. It affected all of us, but it hurt Brenda the most. She struggled to love Jeremiah. She read passages of love in the Bible; she kept finding new ways to let him know he was loved, half to convince herself.
She turned to me at one point to ask for help in starting a new project to help him. She wanted us to be involved in Special Olympics. I put her off.
To her it was more of a refusal. Perhaps it was.
Since the fire I had been trying to deal with that destruction in my own way. We committed to pledges toward the rebuilding fund which went beyond what we could logically afford. I prayed with and over both boys each night. I spoke with them each night, checking on their fears and anxieties and concerns. Especially Jeremiah. I did everything I could to help around the church, though the sight of the ruined building made me want to weep.
Brenda tried also. But she found herself withdrawing her emotions, her affections, from her family, from me. Her anger grew. She found solace elsewhere.
It feels like everything is pretty messed up in my life. That isn’t true of course; there are many things that are going well. But there isn’t any doubt that the heart of a home is the relationship between a man and a woman, and that is very messed up in my home.
It is my suspicion that Brenda has found a loophole, a compromise, in my ultimatum to choose. That loophole is to choose as I have demanded, for the time being. That is all she is committed to.
Of course I wonder if she contacts this other man. I purposefully avoid any investigations there. My mistrust would be poisonous to this fragile marriage. I intentionally force myself to trust, to rein in my tongue from the questions it begs to ask. If she is untrustworthy the evidence will present itself in its own time.
In some ways I can see that this whole mess might allow us to see each other in a clearer light, see who we really are. It might allow us to have a marriage that is more honest and real than we could have ever had otherwise.
But it may be that it won’t last at all.
Sitting in the new sanctuary, where everything is clean and fresh and intentionally designed to assist us in connecting our mortal messes to eternal perfection I am glad that the Lord has found a way to bring such good out of such a mess.
It tears at my heart when I think of how close so many of us, myself, Brenda, Norm, Mel, and Tim, came to being terribly injured or killed that day. The image of my friend thrown onto the driveway by the unseen forces of explosive gases, and I believe, an angel, him standing up in the horizontal column of smoke blasting through the door of the old building... holds sharp and clear.
This new building which makes odd little turns to follow apparently senseless wiggles of a foundation designed for different structures seems intentional in the whole, though quirky and capricious in its details.
Those of us who knew the old place well can still see the echoes of the board room, the pastor’s office, the old entrance, the library, the sanctuary. But the younger faces sitting with their younger children see a mothers’ nursing room perfectly designed, fiiting a whole, in the section that was once the board room. They see a beautiful window, its central frame creating another beautiful cross, where the pastor’s office once rested.
I see all these reflections of the old here and there... On Sunday morns when I pray with our pastors, I note the youth pastor is sitting in nearly the exact spot where Jeremiah knelt to coax a flame onto a sheet of paper from a candle.
I hear echoes of the past which hurt my family, hurt me, and I see wonderfully good things.
Brenda thinks that God is capricious, perhaps cruel. That our desire for children was turned against us so that our first child would die, that our subsequent children would be so challenging. I see good. I see children who have had the evil of their homeland stripped away and the best possible lives given to them against the most improbable of odds.
There are many examples of being able to see the bad or the good in so many things which have happened in our lives.
I believe that passage in Romans. I don’t believe God caused the bad things, but I believe He works for good through all things, good and bad, for those who love Him.
I love Him.
Perhaps that is all that really matters.
Perhaps I don’t even need to be overly concerned to see the good in the things that hurt.
Perhaps praying and worshipping and reading scripture and pondering Him through my writing is enough.
I love Him.
Perhaps that is enough.
It is pretty nice. It is comfortable, clean, very... nice.
I hear that there are a lot of new faces in the seats.
Somethings haven’t changed much. Many of us still sit in the same places, as if the chairs and the people in them hadn’t moved, while the building transformed itself around them.
My seatMy wife and I have been pretty focussed on our own lives (more about that later). But between those myopic moments when I see nothing beyond my own yard, I see signs of promise in our new church.
For example, I got this in an email from a friend:
Though the new construction has been an immense source of pain for you, many people are finding the new facility a blessing. Over 300 attended the concert Monday pm. People raved about the acoustics of the room, including the 2 musicians who were enthusiastically impressed (sounds better in here than it did at Carnegie Hall after they hauled in $30,000 worth of extra sound equipment for our concert!). For the 1st time in my 20+ years here I have an office big enough to hold groups of people for leadership meetings, staff meetings, Bible studies, etc. For the 1st time ever people stick their head in the door, look around & say “wow, nice office.” I NEVER heard that before. It’s cool to see the youth in their new youth center Sunday mornings & evenings – they are jazzed. I could go on & on. Oh yeah, this is a big one, the new office area, big enough to hold all of us so we have a sense of community, 1st time for that as well. If Satan meant to inspire Jeremiah to do something bad, God has certainly turned it around for good for CAC.
That last part is interesting... “turning it around for good”...
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. --Romans 8:28
The old building, with the ancient wiring and undiscovered termite shelter is gone. In its place is a clean, safe, welcoming place. It’s modern enough that young families sit in a space which connects to their own sense of architecture and style. Comfortable enough that old timers feel a sense of invigorating freshness.
There is a reminder of the old sanctuary in the cross hanging on the wall. Large laminate beams supported the vaulted ceiling in the old building. A friend of mine, a craftsman wood worker, reshaped a beam or two into this cross. He selected beams which had been partially charred by the fire that swept through. The burn marks are centered, fading out at the arms’ ends. The symbolism is unmistakable.
The cross bears our sins. All of our sins. The heat and destruction of our selfish acts chars the intersection between God and man. But it does not overwhelm. All our sins fit easily upon the great symbol of God’s love and sacrifice.
That fire burned a lot more than a building of course.
It set a fire in my own home that chewed its way through us all. It affected all of us, but it hurt Brenda the most. She struggled to love Jeremiah. She read passages of love in the Bible; she kept finding new ways to let him know he was loved, half to convince herself.
She turned to me at one point to ask for help in starting a new project to help him. She wanted us to be involved in Special Olympics. I put her off.
To her it was more of a refusal. Perhaps it was.
Since the fire I had been trying to deal with that destruction in my own way. We committed to pledges toward the rebuilding fund which went beyond what we could logically afford. I prayed with and over both boys each night. I spoke with them each night, checking on their fears and anxieties and concerns. Especially Jeremiah. I did everything I could to help around the church, though the sight of the ruined building made me want to weep.
Brenda tried also. But she found herself withdrawing her emotions, her affections, from her family, from me. Her anger grew. She found solace elsewhere.
It feels like everything is pretty messed up in my life. That isn’t true of course; there are many things that are going well. But there isn’t any doubt that the heart of a home is the relationship between a man and a woman, and that is very messed up in my home.
It is my suspicion that Brenda has found a loophole, a compromise, in my ultimatum to choose. That loophole is to choose as I have demanded, for the time being. That is all she is committed to.
Of course I wonder if she contacts this other man. I purposefully avoid any investigations there. My mistrust would be poisonous to this fragile marriage. I intentionally force myself to trust, to rein in my tongue from the questions it begs to ask. If she is untrustworthy the evidence will present itself in its own time.
In some ways I can see that this whole mess might allow us to see each other in a clearer light, see who we really are. It might allow us to have a marriage that is more honest and real than we could have ever had otherwise.
But it may be that it won’t last at all.
Sitting in the new sanctuary, where everything is clean and fresh and intentionally designed to assist us in connecting our mortal messes to eternal perfection I am glad that the Lord has found a way to bring such good out of such a mess.
It tears at my heart when I think of how close so many of us, myself, Brenda, Norm, Mel, and Tim, came to being terribly injured or killed that day. The image of my friend thrown onto the driveway by the unseen forces of explosive gases, and I believe, an angel, him standing up in the horizontal column of smoke blasting through the door of the old building... holds sharp and clear.
This new building which makes odd little turns to follow apparently senseless wiggles of a foundation designed for different structures seems intentional in the whole, though quirky and capricious in its details.
Those of us who knew the old place well can still see the echoes of the board room, the pastor’s office, the old entrance, the library, the sanctuary. But the younger faces sitting with their younger children see a mothers’ nursing room perfectly designed, fiiting a whole, in the section that was once the board room. They see a beautiful window, its central frame creating another beautiful cross, where the pastor’s office once rested.
I see all these reflections of the old here and there... On Sunday morns when I pray with our pastors, I note the youth pastor is sitting in nearly the exact spot where Jeremiah knelt to coax a flame onto a sheet of paper from a candle.
I hear echoes of the past which hurt my family, hurt me, and I see wonderfully good things.
Brenda thinks that God is capricious, perhaps cruel. That our desire for children was turned against us so that our first child would die, that our subsequent children would be so challenging. I see good. I see children who have had the evil of their homeland stripped away and the best possible lives given to them against the most improbable of odds.
There are many examples of being able to see the bad or the good in so many things which have happened in our lives.
I believe that passage in Romans. I don’t believe God caused the bad things, but I believe He works for good through all things, good and bad, for those who love Him.
I love Him.
Perhaps that is all that really matters.
Perhaps I don’t even need to be overly concerned to see the good in the things that hurt.
Perhaps praying and worshipping and reading scripture and pondering Him through my writing is enough.
I love Him.
Perhaps that is enough.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
The Ogress of Greenleaf Manor
It’s Halloween. I’m not feeling well, so I am in bed early, watching Young Frankenstein.
It is one of the funniest movies ever made. I might make watching it a Halloween tradition.
Today I went to a large electronics store to buy supplies for my tech program. It is a little odd speaking to a Hillbilly zombie about the advantages of one memory card reader over another.
Jeremiah had a costume party at school. He went as Darth Maul. It is his only real costume, but one he fixates on too much. I don’t like his fascination with powerful figures of evil. We let him hand out candy to kids who came to the door. The pumpkin he carved sat on the wicker chair on the porch, a glow stick illuminating it (no more candles in our home since the fire at the church!).
I let my misgivings about his costume slide and crawled into bed with this laptop and the funniest movie Mel Brooks ever made.
I tend to let things slide a bit in parenting. A sort of “Don’t sweat the little stuff” attitude. It probably comes from the nearly hands off approach my parents had in raising me.
Parenting styles are a natural source of conflict in a marriage.
Brenda tends to be firmer, stricter. I tend to be more laid back, more accepting of the ol’ “boys will be boys” philosophy.
She wanted me to become stricter. I wanted her to lighten up a little. We didn’t find a compromise. Instead she got stricter, angrier. I tried to lighten things up, joke her out of her mood.
I called her the Ogress of Greenleaf Manor.
You know, that didn’t amuse her as much as you might think.
When she was extremely upset I would back her up in silent tacit acquiescence, but not explicitly.
But, I worked on it. Became stricter.
As I tried to meet Brenda halfway she relaxed a little more.
I’m feeling pretty achy. The cough is deep enough, hurts enough, I wonder if I haven’t contracted a touch of pneumonia, an infection in the lungs. Brenda brought me hot chicken soup. Very hot. Hot enough to defend a castle. Sweet of her.
I know she is deeply unhappy in many ways. I know her heart has strayed far. I know she is confused and hasn’t a clear idea about what she wants.
It would be easy to vilify her actions. But I haven’t the right. I’m responsible for a lot of mistakes myself. I need to worry about that dang pressure-treated 2”X6”X12’ beam in my own eye. (I’m sorry about the ogress crack, Brenda.)
Discounting the vagaries of the modern calendar, Halloween marks an ancient cross-quarter day (half way between an equinox and a solstice; so does Ground Hog’s day). Perhaps my life is also at some sort of cross-quarter. My wife is still in my home. I’m lying here trying to eat scalding soup, and she is doing what she can to be kind and loving.
“You are talking about the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind,” Gene Wilder shouts at his visitor.
Sounds like one of my posts...
Happy All Hallow’s Eve.
It is one of the funniest movies ever made. I might make watching it a Halloween tradition.
Today I went to a large electronics store to buy supplies for my tech program. It is a little odd speaking to a Hillbilly zombie about the advantages of one memory card reader over another.
Jeremiah had a costume party at school. He went as Darth Maul. It is his only real costume, but one he fixates on too much. I don’t like his fascination with powerful figures of evil. We let him hand out candy to kids who came to the door. The pumpkin he carved sat on the wicker chair on the porch, a glow stick illuminating it (no more candles in our home since the fire at the church!).
I let my misgivings about his costume slide and crawled into bed with this laptop and the funniest movie Mel Brooks ever made.
I tend to let things slide a bit in parenting. A sort of “Don’t sweat the little stuff” attitude. It probably comes from the nearly hands off approach my parents had in raising me.
Parenting styles are a natural source of conflict in a marriage.
Brenda tends to be firmer, stricter. I tend to be more laid back, more accepting of the ol’ “boys will be boys” philosophy.
She wanted me to become stricter. I wanted her to lighten up a little. We didn’t find a compromise. Instead she got stricter, angrier. I tried to lighten things up, joke her out of her mood.
I called her the Ogress of Greenleaf Manor.
You know, that didn’t amuse her as much as you might think.
When she was extremely upset I would back her up in silent tacit acquiescence, but not explicitly.
But, I worked on it. Became stricter.
As I tried to meet Brenda halfway she relaxed a little more.
I’m feeling pretty achy. The cough is deep enough, hurts enough, I wonder if I haven’t contracted a touch of pneumonia, an infection in the lungs. Brenda brought me hot chicken soup. Very hot. Hot enough to defend a castle. Sweet of her.
I know she is deeply unhappy in many ways. I know her heart has strayed far. I know she is confused and hasn’t a clear idea about what she wants.
It would be easy to vilify her actions. But I haven’t the right. I’m responsible for a lot of mistakes myself. I need to worry about that dang pressure-treated 2”X6”X12’ beam in my own eye. (I’m sorry about the ogress crack, Brenda.)
Discounting the vagaries of the modern calendar, Halloween marks an ancient cross-quarter day (half way between an equinox and a solstice; so does Ground Hog’s day). Perhaps my life is also at some sort of cross-quarter. My wife is still in my home. I’m lying here trying to eat scalding soup, and she is doing what she can to be kind and loving.
“You are talking about the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind,” Gene Wilder shouts at his visitor.
Sounds like one of my posts...
Happy All Hallow’s Eve.
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