A lesson that I am learning through the forced separation of deployment is the simple one of valuing my marriage... more specifically the menial tasks that make it work.
In the middle of a conversation this past Sunday, a woman I am growing to love and admire said of marriage, "Thirty years is good... it's fun. Little kids are hard." She was not saying that what I have now is not good or fun, but rather that the best is still out there... and she had no idea how much I had been meditating on that lately.
There is an elderly couple very dear to me who are going through the hard hard process of... well, dying together. One is deteriorating quicker than the other, and as the strength and dominance of his masculinity fade, she has to tug pretty hard on the reins in their household. I can only heartbreak for her and the lonely grief of her task, but I will say now and then... I see a flare of bitterness held for years by a strong woman who was always subservient and perhaps deserved and wished for praise that was denied.
I only make this observation public because when I see it, it speaks so strongly of my future that it scares me. There was a time very recently when my behavior was selfish more in pattern than in occasion. I don't think this is unusual for a girl like me, in my stage of life. It takes a very mature person, who knows themselves, their Lord, and their tasks well to not fall prey to it. I was feeling lost in my daily ritual, I felt like I was aging more than growing, that my ability to shine in some tiny and useful way was slipping from my grasp... and well, my discontent made me paranoid. I wanted praise. I wanted Matt to notice and love every effort I made, and felt down-trodden if he didn't.
During this time I had a night that I am not proud of, but feel like fessing up to for the sake of insight. We were having friends over for dinner the next day, and I didn't know them very well and was nervous about making a good first impression. Our little house had taken a beating over the week from messy toddlers and dogs, and I was exhausted from prepping dinner, and cleaning. Matt had been watching football and I was doing everything {notice how aware I was of that}. Jayden dumped a full cup of sticky lemonade all over my freshly mopped floor, and I flipped. I yelled, I cried... Matt declared me insane on the spot, and said we should probably cancel the whole thing if I was going to get so worked up about nothing. I gave him a few choice words, then went for a walk around the block to cool off.
There was a lot in me in that moment, and none of it had anything to do with Matt no matter how much I wanted to blame him. I was wrong, and had some heart issues to work out. And I needed to realize a few things about myself and my spouse. First off, no matter how many times I get angry at him... Matt is not going to help me get the house ready for guests. He does not see the need. AT ALL. And maybe that's not bad. Maybe I am too prideful and insecure to say, "this is not a magazine-cover... this is our home. It is not perfect, but I am so glad to have you in it." Maybe thinking I need to impress people is a problem.
Not just guests, but my husband as well. That doesn't mean that there is no point, I should always give my best.
The thing that I am learning is... while he is gone, I still clean the house and cook the meals and raise our children. I still put extra effort into unseen crevices, and I still love bringing in flowers, and the smell of pine sol, and delicious meals on pretty dishes.
I guess as much grief as I wanted to give him for not noticing, I wasn't really doing it for him. Not solely. I do it for me, too. And I hope he likes it, loves it in fact... but I don't need his praise over simply living my life in a way that is good. The tasks I was hoping for recognition for, and perhaps relief from when he was here go on when he is not, and I do them, and take pleasure in them. And really that should be enough.
Maybe along with this I am learning what our roles are, as man and wife. We are the unseen appendages of each other moving in an echo to make a life that is smooth and sweet. The reward might not come in the form of words. In fact, there are things that other people may see and appreciate in me that Matt will never see, and vice versa. But we go on, working our separate motions that will never be exactly the same, but with time and practice become complimentary to each other. Like a dance. A complex, life-long dance. Sometimes we two-step, sometimes we salsa, sometimes we just hold each a little sadly and sway. But whatever we do, we do it for our partner... and we do it on our own. Amen.
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