Marriage: Like Oil and Water



By Tetine view original here.

“Like oil and water, that’s what we are,” laughs Jon, my hubby of twelve years, whenever I do something that drives him nuts, like let soap suds dry in washed cups, giving that next cup of coffee a ring of sour foam, or leave keys dangling in the front door (“Are you trying to leave an announcement for all the burglars in the area?!”) or sit in his Herman Miller in damp gym clothes, leaving a sweat spot on the seat, just for him.

Oil and water—that’s what we are, me the oldest born, him the youngest. Me the realist, him the idealist. Me thinking eating is about living and him thinking living is eating. Me out the front door ten minutes early, him putting on socks in the car. Me drinking coffee straight up, him drinking a little coffee with his Cold Stone creamer. Me focused on the task at hand, him pausing to ponder life.

But it’s our similarities, like our love for competition and all things athletic, that keep us loving life together. When we were college sophomores playing Speed in the Student Center, he beat me ten times in a row, and I threw the deck of cards in his face, and he laughed saying, “well, how bout another round of ten, make it twenty losses for you?” When he schooled me in basketball, I gave him a little roundhouse kick to the backside, and he just laughed until I started laughing. He stopped laughing when I beat him in a 5k by half a mile (secretly he’s proudJ), so this year we’re signing up for a mud run so we finish together.

We’re minimalists wearing thrift store steals, carrying flip phones, and driving rusty vehicles with missing door handles. We’re readers with ten books on hold at the library and a fetish for Amazon and Half Price Books. We’re talkers planning date nights with witty repartee over a glass of Moscato. We’re dreamers and cynics railing against the mundane, fighting for the beautiful.

We’re sinners needing oceans of grace.

Jon’s favorite verse—Galatians 2:20—has become our marriage verse, keeping us learning and loving through oil-and-water moments, the joys and pains of life. Our first year of marriage, teaching AP Lit. to seniors, buried under Hamlet essays and grading grammar tests, I wanted to make Jon something special for Christmas, so I decided to cross-stitch Galatians 2:20  in Greek—the whole verse—even though needles, thread and crafty things don’t come naturally to this wife.

But on Christmas Eve, with half the verse stitched on cloth cut too short to stretch, I drove to the custom framing shop down the street and begged the guy behind the white counter to help me figure out what to do with my half-verse stitched on too-small cloth. He helped me pick out a frame, directed me to some sticky-board for the cloth, and offered to cut a mat out of discounted remnants. I watched as he cut the rose-colored mat on the white counter with an exacto knife, watched as his fingers slipped and blood oozed.

As co-workers scrambled for the first aid kit, I stared at red blood oozing on white counter and thought of my half-verse: “I have been crucified with Christ, therefore I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”

It’s only after dying that you really live, that Christ lives in you.

Dying to Self, living to Christ, blends husband and wife together.

Christ living in me, living in Jon, breathes joy into our marriage, giving Grace for every-day oil-and-water moments and Hope for years to come.

Related Posts: Boy Meets Girl, Husband Love, Making He/She, We

Boy Meets Girl

For Jon on our 11^th Anniversary

(This post is part of the Redemption Story Project, which you can view here. )

In the fall of 1997 I sat in front of a Northwestern College library computer. I was talking to it, the computer that is, giving the fat monitor and its mystery-to-me software a piece of my non-techy, English Major mind.

Sitting at the computer next to me was my husband-to-be. We hadn’t met yet. I didn’t even know his name.

He, on the other hand, knew my name, though he didn’t tell me at the time. As he told me months later: “The other football players were talking about you in the cafeteria and they pointed you out and told me your name, but I couldn’t tell you that!” . . . .

So this boy-stranger sat in the chrome-and-plastic library chair next to me, and in the midst of my computer tirade, he leaned over and whispered in my ear:

“The problem isn’t the computer. It’s the person staring at the screen . . . .”

I turned from the blue screen in front of me and wide-eyed stared at the brazen, blond-headed freshman leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his face. He was wearing a gold chain round his neck and a white T-shirt with a picture of the cartoon-character-Hobbes gleefully flushing little-boy-Calvin down a toilet.

I couldn’t let this big boy’s insult linger too long in the air, so I glanced past his blue eyes to the computer screen behind him, and seeing a muscle-flexing picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger I responded,

“Well, at least I’m not a metal-head!”

And with a toss of my shoulder-length brown hair, I turned back to my computer, propped my elbows on the desk in front of me, and stared straight ahead.

But this boy leaned across the open space between us and gently squeezed my flexed bicep with his fingers, saying, “Wow, it looks like you work out!”

I recoiled, flinging my tan bicep towards my chest, nearly smacking myself in the face with my own hand. My cheeks flamed as I said: “Don’t touch me! You’re a stranger!”

And the boy laughed saying, “Hi. I’m Jon, what’s you’re name?”

“Becca” somehow escaped my lips, and he replied, “Well then, now we aren’t strangers. I know your name, you know mine.”

And so, we met for the first time in the NWC computer lab, in 1997, and the rest is history. . . . Sort of. (Is it ever really that simple?)  

He was 18. I was 19, and as Jon puts it, “We were really immature back then!”

But from that first moment in the computer lab, I liked the fresh football player from Northern Minnesota. He was funny and honest—he didn’t try the flatter-a-girl-to-get-her-to-go-out-with-you kind of crap. He didn’t perform. He just was . . . himself.

That computer-lab-encounter year,  Jon and I began “accidentally” meeting up at the library to “study.” That’s how I found out he was a public-schooled German Christian with a back-woods vocabulary and a philosopher’s mind. He didn’t care about grades and he always asked why. I thought that--asking why—made him a rebel, and I wanted to be a rebel like that.

And I, I was a homeschooled Preacher’s kid from the Midwest who cared about pleasing my parents and making straight A’s. I was a prisoner to other people’s opinions, forever an actor on a stage—performing the dreams and desires of others. But secretly I longed to  live the God-given beauty of my own breath, thoughts, and feelings.  

With Jon, perhaps for the first time in my life, I could just breathe and be the me that God created.   

We laughed together, ran miles of road together (I left him on a park bench in the middle of nowhere, once, and he still ran after me), drank way too many mochas at Caribou Coffee together, and talked about our mutual struggle to fill the hollow spaces in our hearts with God.

And, somehow, Jon saw in me what so many others didn’t: I longed to draw God close, but I didn’t know how, was too scared to try. So, out of fear, I kept God and others from filling the open, hollow spaces in my heart.

And, just as he did in the computer lab so long ago, Jon reached across the hollow, open spaces in my heart, drawing me close, talking about God and life in a way I’d never heard before—intimately, personally.  After our first summer home from college, Jon shared how he talked with God as he worked alone all summer, re-building his Dad’s garage. He shared how his talks with God led him to change his college major from Kinesiology to Bible.

And even though Jon’s parents thought his degree-changing was “crazy,” he took that step of faith because he knew God was in it. And that school year, as I watched Jon follow God’s plan for him, I realized Jon’s faith was for real—his own, separate from his parents.  

But my God was inextricably tied to my parents. The God I knew lived in my parents daily sermons and the pages of the Bible. God did not live in the day-to-day joys and pains of my life, my heart. Or, at least, I’d never felt His presence in that flesh-and-spirit kind of way.  

But I wanted to know Jon’s God—a God who lived close, intermingling flesh and spirit.

And ever since the day Jon and I finally became one flesh at Immanuel Baptist Church,  a country-like church in a the heart of a Minneapolis neighborhood, he’s shown me what it means to know God like that—in flesh and in spirit, in head and in heart.

And the very thing that drew me to Jon back in 1997—his ability to see, share, and pursue the heart-honest-truth about God and Self, no matter the cost--has freed me to do the same.  I’ve come to know God in the day-to-day of my life’s joys and pains. I’ve learned to see God move in flesh and spirit, drawing me close, and closer still. 

And with a husband like Jon, I know the next eleven years will bring more Calvin-and-Hobbes humor, more rebel-like discussions over a cup of Starbucks about the whys of life, and an even deeper awareness of God-with-us, every day, every hour, every moment.

“And the two will become one flesh, so they are no longer two but one.” (Mark 10:8)

Happy 11^th Anniversary, my love. 

 

Related Posts: Husband Love, Making He/She, We, 

Redemption Story Project Writing Assignment #6

"If God truly is good beyond our wildest imagining and if God takes evil and uses it for good, then how God redeems the tragedies of our lives will be nothing sort of glorious. We may not see the redemption in this lifetime. But then again, God just may do the redeeming right now. Our tragedy is also our redemption. God allows tragedy because he can use it to soften our hearts and make them more his own. . . . We can't love in a way that is truly selfless until we are broken. "(To Be Told, 96).

Part 1: Think back over your life to instances of "shalom (peace) shattered," when tragedy, no matter how minor/major, struck? Think about the first kid who hurt your feelings/called you a name in school, think about hurts from your parents (intentional or not), think about different forms of loss you've experienced (loss of relationships, loss of a loved one, etc.) How has God used tragedy in your life to draw you to himself?

Part 2: Write out the story of one of your life's tragedies. Capture how you felt/responded to the situation at the time. Now, think about and then explain how God has used that tragedy for good in your life.

Husband Love

To Jon on Valentines Day

Husband-love, this is God’s
Grace-gift to me,

For husband-love lives Father-God’s love,
making God real to me.

Before husband-love,

I knew pseudo-love—
Love that says “I love you”
But lives “I love self.”

I knew false-love in the name of Love.

I’d never felt Fearless love,

Love that sacrifices Self for the Soul of another,
Love that mirrors God-love: perfect love
That casts out fear.

So when You lived patient love,

waiting for this foolish-fearful heart,
to trust in real Love,
waiting five years,
weathering three break-ups,
two “Dear Jon” letters,
and my sloppy-hurtful words,  
always pointing to the One
who loved me best, loved me perfectly,
Slowly, I began to see:
this lived-out Love,
Rooted in sacrifice of Self,
Rooted in trusting God,
casting out fearful
grasping, pushing, pulling,
forcing of Self before Soul is ready,
this was
Real Love.

So when we finally said “I do” on that

Bright June morning, in 2002, this I knew:
I trusted You because You first Loved me,
And I wanted to love You too.

And you’ve lived Love through good times
And bad: through seminary days, joyful
birthing days and weary new-born-baby days,
through three miscarriages and the
shattering of family,
through joy and through pain, 
through this broken-fearful heart
learning
how to let go of Self
and love you,
love our sons,
love the God
who sacrificed his very own Son
for Love of me.

And it’s Your love—

Husband-love—
That points me to this greatest
Love.

And You—

my husband, my Love,
Are God’s
most precious
Grace-gift to me.

I John 1: 9 This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. ¹⁰ This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.

1 John 4:18 There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

Grommets and Grace

I’ve been on a mission to get our little town home in the ‘hood ready for baby #4. Fitting a fourth in this two-bedroom place will require creative genius. So I got on Pintrest looking for space-saving solutions, and after seeing the simple genius of removing cumbersome closet doors, I decided to replace most of our bi-fold closet doors with drapes.

After hours of searching for the perfect drapes for the basement, I finally found them in the “catalog returns” section of an outlet store. But the drapes had a major issue: a missing grommet (see pic on right). But since the manager was willing to give me a smoking deal, I bought the drapes hoping I could find a lone grommet to fit the naked hole.

So yesterday afternoon I spent two hours running from Home Depot to Michaels to Jo-Ann’s hoping to find a lone grommet for sale. (They only sell them in sets of ten—imagine that!)  In the midst of my hunt I called Jon to ask if he knew of any other places to look for my lone grommet, and he didn’t pick up his phone. I called again. No answer. Frustrated at my fruitless search, I stooped to desperate measures:  I went to a couple thrift stores hoping to find a rejected curtain with a grommet hole I could pry off with a screwdriver. As I wandered around the Salvation Army thrift store, I called Jon five more times. No answer.

I could feel the frustration boiling under my skin. My “smoking deal” was turning into a pay-a-lot-of-money-in-gas-for-no-reason disaster.

So after calling Jon about ten more times. . . I gave up the hunt and drove home, and as I drove, I fumed about the fact that Jon didn’t answer his dang phone!

When I walked through the front door, I threw my purse and keys on the buffet, stomped into the kitchen, and found Jon wiping down the table. I snapped at table-washing hubby: “Why didn’t you answer your phone! What if the van broke down?!  I –your pregnant wife--would have been stranded on the side of the road. ”

 Jon just looked up at me with blue-eyes laughing, sponge in hand: “Well, did you break down?”

 I stared into his laughing-at-me eyes and tried to stay mad: “You should ALWAYS answer your phone when I’m gone!”

 “What’s got you so worked up?”

“A missing grommet.”

 That’s when laughing-blue-eyes chortled loud: “A what? You mean like, Wallace and Grommet the movie?”  

 “No!” I huffed: “Grommets are for curtains! I’m missing a grommet in my new curtain!”

Jon: “So. . . . you’re biting my head off because you can’t find a grommet . . .” Snicker-laugh, “ Grommmmmeeetttt. . . . Sorry, can’t help myself. Just like saying that funny word: grommet. So you’re telling me that you’re all worked up because you can’t find a grommet?”

His snicker-laugh turns to belly-laugh and I can’t stay mad anymore. I laugh with him, and I see: I’m being selfish-silly about this missing-grommet thing!

 And laughter reminds me why I love this man: when I’m selfish-silly, he doesn’t lecture or scold. He just states the obvious:

 I’m giving missing grommet joy-stealing power.

Jon’s laughing-eyed correction of my selfish-silly heart, this is grace. A gentle correction from God through my hubby. 

And I realize: missing-grommet moments happen every day:  jam on the couch, legos on the floor, gum on the carpet, lost keys, burned dinner, tough Math lesson, sibling spats. And everyday I have a choice—to extend grace through patient cleaning, correcting, and training, or to receive grace—the gentle correction of my own selfish heart when I respond with angst and sloppy-hurtful words.

So today I choose the grace that brings JOY, and when I mess up (which happens every day!) I choose corrective grace which molds this wayward heart to my Savior-God.

So, this morning, this afternoon—let’s choose grace.

Making He/She, We

Nine years ago today we said “I do,”
our he/she began melding into we.
Nine years ago we declared:
“I love thee freely, I love thee purely,
with all the breath, smiles, tears of all my life!”

Yet we learned--
the course of true love never did run smooth,
You said, “It’s ten minutes to everywhere!”
I protested, “We’re late for everything!”
I suggested, “How bout some hummus?”
You laughed, “Hummus, shmummus, bummus!”
You said, “Let’s read Ephesians before we doze.”
I said, “Ok . . . ” yawning,  drifting to repose.
You said, “I’ll be a trader-discipler.”
I said, “A what? Seminary was? . . . I do not concur!”

And God looked down and said,
“What fools these mortals be!”  
Me trying to stay she.
You trying to stay he.
This he/she melding into we—how can it be?

We asked: “How do I love thee?”
Embracing your he!
Accepting my she!
Loving our very own
We.

Making together–love, we-love
an ever-fixed mark that
looks on tempests and is never
Shaken.

Making together-love, we-love
strong as death
fierce as the grave
Unquenchable.

And I said:
“Follow your dreams,
And I’ll follow you,
Wherever.
Whenever.
However.”

And you suggested:
“Macbeth is playing in the park—
Out! Out! Damn Spot!—
Let’s see it,
under the stars,
sipping Riesling.”

I affirmed:
 “Your soul-caring
Ways—reading the Word
to me, to our boys,
and Praying.
Always Praying—
I love those Ways.
Never stop.
Never change.”

You offered:
 “Can I wash the dishes?
Change a diaper?
Watch the kids?
So you can go for a run?”

I prodded:
“Help me understand
Your trader-discipler
Dreams
Your heart
Your vision.”

You gave:
“Here’s a cup
of coffee.
Made it French Press,
just as you like it.”

We-love, together-love, says:
I love thee to the depth and breadth
And height
My soul can reach.


*Blue text=quotes/paraphrases of Shakespeare, Elizabeth Browning, Song of Solomon.