When it was clear the clouds were moving in, we did what we do best. We got prepared. We gathered our metaphorical umbrellas and pulled out rain boots. We worked together. Jason and I are at our very best when we have a project and need to get.something.done because we both like creating order in our life and we work hard and diligently together with a goal. I think we appreciate each other more when we can tangibly see the other contributing.
When the rain came hard with frightening winds, we battened down the hatches and huddled together to wait out the storm. But by June of this year, it was every man/woman/child for themselves because from inside our life, it felt like we were being tossed like rag dolls in the waves. Everything was flying everywhere; our words, our desperation, our fears, our future, our money, our energy, our parenting, our losses, our grief, our anger … We were hanging on for dear life.
And I blamed it all on Lyme.
I am coming to see that isn’t quite right.
The winds and rains have died down and there is room for reflection as we step out and survey the damage and talk about how, where and what we need to rebuild.
It might be that the Lyme diagnosis (storm) brought some buried things to the surface. Pressed on every side, things that were minor became major. Some of what was revealed was good stuff and some of what came up was old junk that we had sort of buried and left to harden and corrode. The minors were easy enough to ignore before they became what we needed to survive the storm.
In the height of it, I was reminded (perhaps a God-whisper) that this could be a refining, transforming, place brought on by things outside of our control we would rather do without but that also were immeasurably worthwhile.
I was reminded that our marriage is not deeply flawed because we are struggling to find any stable ground to stand on together. Our life is experiencing a trauma in very difficult, heart-breaking ways. When the storm stopped flinging us around, it did not set us back where we used to be. We can clutch to our old dreams, our old selves, our old life and watch them die or we can do the pruning, planning, preparing, planting and wait for a new season, new seeds, new growth and new life.
It is always hard to lose the life you planned. The one you dreamed about, worked toward, hoped for. It’s why it is so hard for me to follow Jesus and lose my life to find true life. Because, really, it is so deeply painful to have the layers I built to protect myself and get my way in life, peeled away.
It’s hard to start over. It’s hard to feel weak. It is hard and humbling (and freeing – but that comes after the hard and humbling) to recognize we are not in control of our lives. Because the mercy of God that breathes life into these broken places looks different than the sweet, feel-good kind we really pray for.
But I have always been thirsty for real life with God. Mostly, I don’t want it to cost me any of the things I have built or think I need. I don’t want it to wound me in the process. This is why it is a loving, severe mercy that God gives me what I most deeply need and desire but would rarely agree to if I knew the cost.
Here is the beautiful and hard grace of this place we are in. We are cultivating new ground. We are working out what is lodged between us when it would have been much easier to ignore it or walk away from each other. I know with absolute certainty that it leads to more intimacy, a deeper life together. We are doing the work of cultivating the soil and planting new seeds. What life will bloom still remains to be seen but I know there will be new growth after a very hard, devastating season. This is Hope. This is Trust. This is Love.
We have been coming back to each other and finding firmer (and at the same time, gentler) ground. We have begun holding on to each other again.
Those of you with long marriages that have survived storms, been battered in storms, but found the courage , vulnerability, grace and hope to rebuild, you have something of immense value to offer the rest of us earlier in our journey of cultivating a real marriage.
There seems to be this skewed view that only those with trauma-free, scar free, marriages can speak about the success of their marriage. I don’t agree. Every marriage has rough seasons and we need those who have found their way through them to offer us wisdom, guidance, and hope by their vulnerability. Your vulnerability helps us to know that just because we experience hard places in our marriages does not mean we should give up or even that our marriages are deeply flawed. Frankly, I cannot relate to people who portray a perfect marriage. (Though this may be what others need so if your marriage is wrinkle free, maybe just don’t tell me about it J but encourage others who have wrinkle-free marriages. For the record, I do not know any of these couples.)
The silence of the wise people that could speak honestly and deeply to young marriages gives the impression that the 30, 40 and 50 year marriages we see got there scot-free. Once we’ve been married for more than five minutes, we know this isn’t true. But we need your stories – your honest, vulnerable stories of your own severe mercies. We will not judge you. You will give us hope and comfort and direction. Tell us about the joys and delights of marriage. Talk about your friendship. But don’t just speak of hard places with humor, or a wink or a roll of the eyes. Tell us your stories of how you step/stepped on each other. Or talk about the hurts that lodged between you and kept you from loving each other fully. Speak about the isolation in hard places, the pain of it. Tell us of your uncertainties or doubts or anger or fears when you were in the middle of the hard times. Tell us how you nearly broke – or maybe you did break – and then tell us how you trusted each other again, how you recovered and found your way back to each other. It doesn’t have to be perfect but it needs to be real. My generation cringes at preachy and pretending but soaks up authenticity. So share your stories with authenticity and vulnerability. We will be better for it. You will be better for it too. You will offer comfort, peace, and wisdom. You will give us perspective to see beyond painful experience of our marriages. Maybe we will tuck away your story for the future or maybe it will be exactly what we need to hear for the hard place we are living in. In your stories, we can be comforted and challenged and cheered on at the same time.
Real marriage is not smooth sailing for years on end (though there are lots of periods of smooth sailing – we’ve had those too). It seems to me it’s really about holding on to each other, coming back to each other, listening to each other, cultivating new soil, planting new seeds and rebuilding together over and over when storms of life rock the boat.
PS. Remember how I said we would not judge you? Maybe don’t share it with engaged couples. The chances of judgment are high. When I was engaged, I knew my marriage would be perfect and would have seriously judged you. ;)
******
A favorite song by Dave Barnes.
