1.30.2013

Forgiveness : It's what's for dinner

   My husband and I answered the big question in our lives when we chose each other, got married, and started a family.  The big picture was extraordinary and brimming over with blessings.  But the small picture, full of obligations, financial decisions, and the day-to-day drudging, was a little hazy until a marriage help group at our church transformed our way of thinking.  I wrote about our experiences on this blog and most fortunately, one of the posts has been viewed over 17,000 times (and counting) in two weeks.  For the first time in my life I am standing witness to God working in our lives, in others' marriages, and even on Pinterest.  Unfortunately for me the next lesson in Re|Engage, granting forgiveness to my husband, turned out to be a tough pill to swallow.  I wasn't expecting that.  Although, I wasn't expecting any of this when we got married.  I thought we would just figure it out and do better than we did in our previous failed marriages, which is what brought us to church seeking answers and faced with...forgiveness. It's what's for dinner.

   Thus far, we learned that our worldly definition of love is not enough.  Society taught us to view marriage as a contract.  I used to believe that if I put "x" and "y" into the marriage, that I deserved and expected "z" to be returned to me as payment.  I was living by what I had been taught and what I had witnessed by watching those around me.  Next, I was faced with the harsh realization that I am my biggest marital problem.  It hit my soul like that first splash of water in the morning, numbing my face from the bitter cold swirling outside. 

   Re|Engage dared me to draw a circle around myself and to begin fixing the only thing I have the ability to fix- what is inside the circle.  Oi.  Forced to take the longest look in the most accurate of mirrors, I confessed that I am broken.  I stared at all the scattered pieces and knew I needed help putting them all back together.  I faced my faults and with God's help began putting myself back together again.  My heart and eyes had only just begun to peek open, waking from hibernation, and accept God's grace.  Then that truth-telling mirror, which I thought I had just conquered, came back to haunt me again.  Only this time, it would break me- just not in the way you would expect.

   Ever since the first time someone hurt my feelings, even as far back as on the playground as a child, I have been fervently placing stone upon stone building a wall of protection around myself.  Every once and a while I would let someone into my fortress.  If they hurt me, I'd usually ignore it for a while until they pushed the envelope so far and committed an unforgivable act.  Then, I'd give them the boot.  I don't mean a slight nudge with the pillowy cushion of an Ugg or a stab with the spurs nailed onto the heel of my boots.  No.  My "giving of the boot" would consist of a never-ending story of all the things they had done to hurt me that I overlooked for so long, followed by a slow-motion commentary and replay of him/her hammering the last nail into the coffin that would lay to rot our past relationship, and end with a stern and absolute drive of the rigid sole of my shoe into his/her chest therefore removing them from my circle forever.  (Everyone who really knows me is nodding his/her head, "Yeah.  That's about right!")  I put stock in that old saying, "Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me."

    I remembered back to week one of our group when I was anxiously awaiting the opportunity to recite my mental catalogue of past hurts in our relationship.  Luckily, I was able to retain a smidge of dignity when I wasn't given the chance for a few weeks.  "Oh, you're right!  I'm horrible when I procrastinate!  I shouldn't just be on time, I should be early!  It's all my fault."  Although I was turning over a new leaf and stepping out of my selfish box for the first time, it wasn't going to sit well with me if I couldn't address past issues.  Just because we've been a happier couple for two weeks doesn't eradicate the scars from eight years of unhealthy interactions. 

   Without regard to any personal growth I had experienced and like a girl in her early twenties drunk-dialing her ex-boyfriend for the first time, I came undone.  A list of insults and play-by-plays of previous arguments "debates" came pouring out of me.  One instance was very early in our relationship and really changed things for me.  As to avoid airing all of our dirty laundry, I'm going to use this one example for our lesson on forgiveness.

***
 
   The sun was still slumbering beneath the horizon.  I was shuttling from house to house in my Jeep with the radio up and a cigarette hanging out the open window picking up several girls for a short trip down to Austin.  We had to be on location by sunrise for a runway show.  The five of us talked, sang, and danced the whole way until we arrived at the physical address we were given.  The average show would normally take place within the glittering circles at exclusive events in department stores, hotel convention centers, or multi-million dollar estates in Highland Park.  Only, this wasn't Neiman's or the Dallas Petroleum Club, this was a military base.  A little stunned, we found a place to park within Camp Mabry and giggled while we took pictures with the tanks that welcomed guests. 
 


 
   Once inside, we discovered the gym had been transformed into a runway.  Crisp white chairs lined the red carpet runway and the last few spotlights were being affixed to the rafters above.  We caught up with all the other girls backstage and began to try on our outfits to make sure everything fit for the show.  Lunchtime came and since we were asked by the client not to leave the premises, lunch was provided.  For all twenty girls, the staff placed four large cartons of strawberries and twenty bags of tuna on the table.  Yes, bags of "To-Go Tuna".  Yum.  We had already cut the client a break by not charging for travel time and opting for gas money instead.  We weren't about to spend all morning driving and then maniacally trying on clothes and rehearsing in a dirty back room of a military base's gymnasium only to subsist on strawberries and tuna until the show ended at 9pm, at the earliest.  (Yes, some models really do eat.  No, it really is not glamorous backstage.)
 
   Following a small negotiation, a field trip to the closest Tex-Mex restaurant, and one hundred evening gowns kissing the runway with their feathers, taffeta, and silk chiffon, the show was over and we were free to unwind with a cocktail on Sixth Street.  With the exception of one of the models falling ill before the show, it was a successful day.  The next morning we all headed home.  Shading our bleary eyes with our bulky shades and nursing throbbing headaches with silence and gulps of water I dropped each girl off at their respective homes.  When I finally made it home I collapsed on the couch and took a long nap.  I was completely exhausted.  That evening at dinner I still wasn't feeling well.  In fact, I started to feel worse.  Within minutes of finishing a rich, cheesy lasagna dinner topped off with garlic rolls dripping in butter from our favorite local Italian spot I was running to and from the bathroom.  Great.

   It was the most violent, painful, and gut-wrenching "stomach bug" or case of food poisoning I'd ever experienced.  Though I had been on my own for several years at this point, I hadn't been this sick since I lived with my parents.  At twenty three years old I actually found myself wondering where my Dad was to wipe my forehead with a wet washcloth and force me to drink Pepto Bismol.  Instead, I called out for the only person who could hear me- my boyfriend with whom I had just shacked up with a few months prior.  I started politely pleading, "Baby?  Babe?  Can you help me?  I don't feel good."  Within the next hour it grew louder and might have included some loud moaning and a few outcries.  I couldn't have cared less about embarrassing myself with vomit in my hair.  I just wanted someone to rub my back or bring me some crushed ice- something!  He never came.

   I fell asleep on the bathroom floor for a little while and when I woke, I was furious.  "Wait a damn minute!!  Isn't this the same guy who has been courting me, taking me out to dinner, dancing with me until 2am, repeatedly asking me to move in and even going as far as to pay for movers?!  And now he's just going to ignore me?!?!"  I stood up and stormed downstairs to find him sound asleep in bed. 

I shook his shoulder.  "Hey.  Hey!  HEY." 
He barely opened his eyes, "What?!"
"Can't you hear me calling for you?!  I'm really sick."
"Are you bleeding?"
"What?  No.  I'm-"
"Then you'll be alright."  He shut his eyes.
  
   Did you hear that?  No, not him pulling up the covers and turning over.  No, not me running back up to the bathroom to cry and vomit some more.  Did you hear that crushing sound?  That was my heart breaking.  I never really recovered from that day.  I never stopped loving him and never stopped believing in this life we were building together.  But did I ever expect compassion from him again?  Nope.
 
   I ended up driving myself to the ER.  As the nurse started an IV he said I needed to call someone to for a ride home because the pain medication was going to make me too drowsy to drive.  I called my then boyfriend, now husband and told him that even though he had to leave for work in thirty minutes he would have to call in sick and come pick me up.  (I could've called my parents who lived nearby but he needed to make the choice to be my partner, or not.)  I hung up and fell asleep five seconds later.  I woke up suddenly to an even sharper pain in my stomach, jumped out of bed and flew by a figure sitting in a chair with crossed arms into what I could only hope was a bathroom.  When I returned, the nurse said I must have been allergic and we were going to try a different medication this time.  I fell back asleep. 
 
   The car ride home from the hospital was beyond awkward.  (As it turned out, six other models on that job came down with the same illness.  One of them thought she was pregnant until she found out how many ended up sick.)  I wouldn't turn my head to look at him because I could hear him seething and knew that a seed of contempt had just been planted.  I didn't understand it, had no idea how to address it, and even less of a clue what to do about it.  Nevertheless, the divide was discernible. 

  What I should've learned that day was he has a difficult time taking minor things seriously because of all the inexplicable things he sees at work. He cleans up other people's poop off their bedsores, shovels brains off the highway, and washes other people's blood off his clothes and out of his senses for a living.  All his patience and empathy is spent at work.  This was a thirty-two-year-old bachelor who had completely lost what little ability men have to be sensitive- thanks to his career as an everyday hero and one too many unbridled years as a bachelor in the supposed prime of his life.  Sadly, I never fully saw his point of view.  My vision was always clouded with my selfish, sorrowful "oh woe is me" sob story (hence, above).  All I allowed myself to see was he enjoyed being around me when it was fun, and we really did "click", but as far as possessing a deep, consuming love for me?  He did not.  And strangely, I was fine with it on some level.  I had wholeheartedly trusted others in my life and been devastated when the relationship ended.  This time, I made the choice not to fully trust, not to fully invest myself.  *Clunk.*  *Clunk.*  And up went two more bricks on the walls that surrounded me.
 
***
  

   Long story not short, he has always been prickly.  And I have always come undone.  I felt like everything was happening to meEverything was a personal attack.  And though he always verbally apologized when I brought to his attention all the ways he hurt me, I never really forgave him.  I knew he would hurt my heart again and again.  Everything he said that was hurtful I would play over and over again in my head like a broken record, or tape, or iTunes playlist.  I remember having a serious conversation with him after a disagreement once and I warned him, "Look.  I'm willing to look past the things you say and the things you don't.  I want to stay together.  But each and every time I sweep it under the rug or look the other way, it breaks my heart a little bit more.  I'm just worried what that will do to me, and to us, over time."

   Always on the hunt for a solution, I sometimes prodded him further and it usually went like this, "Just because you don't think I should be sad about my best friend and I breaking up...or...depressed because I just found another stretchmark...or...upset because so-and-so told so-and-so something horribly untrue about me...doesn't mean I'm wrong. Just because you don't think I should 'allow' myself to get upset doesn't mean that I'm not actually upset. Just because you don't agree with me doesn't make me stop feeling this way."  Though it never mattered what I said. In fact, the more I said the more he was convinced I was crazy and ridiculous. And years of misunderstanding, name-calling, and confusion left a scar on my heart. Now I'm expected to forgive him? But how?

   Obviously, my husband is a wonderful man.  I can always depend on him to handle any financial worry, any billing issue, ornery customer service person, anyone who attempts to take advantage of me, any major hurdle in our lives, and all home projects (although those take a bit longer- heehee).   He is the most involved, protecting, nurturing, loving father to our two daughters.  And I know he would lay down his life before anyone tried to hurt mine or my daughters' little finger.  But there was always something holding him back from connecting to me when I needed him most.  Like I said in "Re|Engage. The Inner Circle.", I tried everything.  Nothing I knew how to do ever worked.

   Whether your spouse has cheated on you once with a colleague of his, or cheated repeatedly with several of your own friends, hid money from you and used it to fly to Vegas with the boys, betrayed you by siding with his parents over you, took all the money you earned and blew it on alcohol or drugs, ignored your children, or disrespected you in front of all his work buddies or your friends- it all crushes our spirit.  As women, our spirit is such a sacred, beautiful thing when left to flourish.  And as women we either stand up and fight, lie down and take it, give up and walk away, or get even.  However, when I think about that list of ingredients we all say every relationship needs- trust, communication, laughter, support, understanding, etc.- I don't think I've ever heard anyone say "forgiveness". 

   So on this night at Re|Engage, we had just listened to a testimony from another couple.  We spoke of forgiveness in class and really explored what that meant from a biblical standpoint.  As the curriculum states, "God has forgiven you of countless offenses against Him; therefore, you are to forgive your spouse for their offenses against you.  When you don't, you are being hypocritical.  You are experiencing the forgiveness, but are not willing to extend it to others- including your spouse."  I expect my husband to forgive me, but I can't forgive him?  I know God has forgiven me and I'm supposed to live in His image, yet I still can't forgive my husband?

   I retorted, "Ok, so I'm supposed to 'forgive and forget', right?  But then he isn't being held accountable anymore and he'll probably just do it again.  Basically you're asking me to overlook his mistakes and then everything will just get better?  No.  I don't feel like forgiving him."  ...Wrong.  I soon discovered all of the above is dead wrong

At its most basic level, forgiveness is the decision to pardon an offense and give up the right to be repaid.     -Re|Engage curriculum

   Oh.  Wow.  There's an idea.  I've never thought of it that way before.  What if I actually did forgive him?  What is holding me back?  Then it hit me.  If I forgive him, then I will expect the behavior to stop.  If I forgive him, then he no longer owes me anything for the anguish he caused me.  If I forgive him, then I have to "remember (my) commitment to forgive.  It is often a commitment (I) will continue to make when- not if- the feelings of hurt and disappointment return."  Only, there should be no conditions placed upon forgiveness- no "what ifs".  There should only be "when" and then "done".

   There I sat, staring down a hypothetical heaping plate of forgiveness for dinner.  I took a fork of faith, swallowed my pride, decided to relinquish the tape I always played in my head, even set aside my fears that he would hurt me again, and dug in.

   Luckily, we both decided we would really commit ourselves to the homework that week and truly focus on forgiveness.  We had planned on spending the day cleaning out the garage while Little Girl was at school and Baby Girl was at my parents' house.  Instead, we grabbed our Re|Engage books and went out on the back porch.  The time had come to share our list of things we were asking one another to forgive about ourselves.  It was beyond uncomfortable for me to start.  We had never spoken of any of these issues outside of an argument.  And I had never admitted to any of them before when we did argue.  Well, here goes nothing.  I read him my list and asked him to forgive me for being selfish, bitter, disappointed, self-destructive, and disrespectful all these years.  (Of course my plea was more extensive than that but this post is already at novel length.) 

   Then he followed with his list.  It was, by far, the most electrifying and exhilarating conversation we've ever had.  Then, everything really began to change.  We felt God working in our marriage and watched Him moved mountains.  His will smashed through my self-inflicted torture chamber/wall of "protection" and left behind a pile of stones.  Now, what to do with this mess?

   I don't recall exactly who said it, but I will never forget the visual I was gifted with one night at Re|Engage about this symbolic home we all build to house and protect our marriage.  Picture a spot of land where you plan to spend your life.  You will shelter your spouse, your children, your career, your activities, your memories, your heart; all the facets of your life will orbit like small, glowing planets around the staggering and blazing sun that is your marriage.  Staring at this little patch of dirt, you are guaranteed that storms will come.  You must build a strong enough home to protect your marriage from the inevitable storms. 

   I would like to think of our first huge leap of faith, in genuinely forgiving one another altogether as God has done and always will do for us, as the first time I took a stone from the pile of carnage and placed it on that little spot of land.  This lesson on forgiveness broke me.   It would mark the first stone I used to build a home to house and shelter our marriage. 

   Now each time I hear these ridiculous phrases, "Love means never having to say you're sorry," "People never change", or, "Respect yourself enough to walk away from anything that no longer serves you...or makes you happy," I will travel light with His key and look toward our future.



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This is part three of a multi-part marriage series.

Click on the links below for more.


Preface [Re|Engage.]





 

 

To hear the couple that drew us in, click here.
To hear our mentor couple's testimony (and others), click here.


 


For more information about Re|Engage,

such as a church near you that offers it

or an avenue to bring it to your own church,

please visit:

 

MarriageHelp.org



1.21.2013

Weird Science



 
   I will never understand the weird science that aligns the stars precisely and fuses a new connection.  I have questioned my growing cyber relationship with this blog, a facebook page, tweeting, and pinning.  But this past week my virtual efforts paid off in ways that remind me of the good ole days (more specifically 1985) when electricity was still mysterious and exciting, when you could almost feel it with your fingertips, when it could send a car back in time or drive a missile through a house.  The only trouble is there is a missile in my house now.  "A missile!  A MISSILE!  A MISSILE IN MY HOUSE GARY!"
 
Weird Science missile in Wyatt's house
 

1.20.2013

Lost and Found

   On one of those magical days when I make the time to fully immerse myself in the picture book section at my favorite used book store, I was lucky enough to discover Lost and Found, written and illustrated by Oliver Jeffers.  Walking my fingers across the steps of spines, I spotted a sweet little penguin.  If this darling creature suddenly showed up on my door step, I would take a journey with him too.

 
 

1.16.2013

Short and Sweet. Thank you!!!



   I am a bit blown away.  To put this in perspective, I have 25 followers on this blog and over half are obligated.  On an average day this blog is viewed about 50 times- some days only 20, others over 100.  Today, I had over 500 page views.  What on earth?!  At first, I thought it was a mistake or a glitch attributed to spyware.  Nope. 

1.13.2013

ReEngage : The Inner Circle


    A few weeks into a marriage help group at church, I was faced with the harsh reality that, "I am my biggest marital problem." [Paul David Tripp.] Like all those who have been through Re|Engage before, I realized I can only fix what is inside the circle- me. Staring into the cavernous abyss of the unknown, I was reluctant to get in too deep. I had spent so much time and energy sweeping my failings under the rug or covering them up with a compensative tarp and I didn't want to reveal them. However, you can't keep up the charade forever, can you? When two people get married, it's only a matter of time before you discover all of one another's weaknesses. It was time for me to get real...with myself. My husband already knew the real me and had been communicating (in such a lovely way- ha) my faults to me for years. Only, I wasn't listening.

Lesson 2- Brokenness

    Does your marriage look as romantic and spectacular as the love stories depicted in Re|Engage. Trite and True.? Are you basking in your happily ever after? Maybe a few of you are, but I think most of us are not. Everyone has marital problems- infidelity, finances, parenting, ambition, loyalty, communication, sex, etc. Every couple has disagreements.  Whether it's a knock-down, drag-out brawl about the in-laws or a little tiff about forgetting to return a phonecall, I think the root of every argument comes down to this: she doesn't feel loved and/or he doesn't feel respected. Ever since we read Love & Respect, I am able to relate each and every conflict we have ever had to the fundamental rule that I need to feel loved and he needs to feel respected. (Of course, that is not all we need. But I believe it is the foundation for all men and women.)

    So, what happens when a malicious word is thrown or a wordless dismissal cuts you to your core? An argument ensues. A glass is thrown. A door is slammed. Someone storms off. Someone cries. Then, silence. If you've never done any of the above then please comment below and share with us where, when, and how you learned to resolve conflicts in a healthy way. As for the rest of us, we are a mixed bag of characteristics we absorbed from our parents, friends, work buddies, movies, pop culture, books, etc.

   When Dr. Phil was in his prime, I used to watch him pretty regularly.  (His ratings were through the roof.  I know I'm not alone here.)  And now I only remember two or three bits of advice he gave in the beginning because the rest was drowned out by his unproductive drama fests that have plagued the last several years. One thing I always recall was his theory that, "the number one determinant of divorce is the way a couple argues." I agree. However, he never offered a substantial solution.

   Conflict resolution has been a sizable struggle of ours. My husband cannot recall witnessing any explosive arguments in his home growing up. I cannot recall one argument growing up that wasn't explosive. Of course, neither method was instrumental in showing us how to resolve issues once we had a family of our own. Isn't it ironic that we accept and even celebrate the differences of each of one of our children, yet we expect two people such as us, from such different backgrounds, to immediately and seamlessly fuse together? It surely doesn't happen on its own. Love is not enough. Dr. Phil was not enough. The Re|Engage curriculum so wisely states, "Every marriage takes work, and no one passively arrives at a great marriage."


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   So, how do you fix it? Where to start? Taken from Lesson 2, "The problem isn't your circumstances or your spouse, it is the selfishness and sinfulness within your own heart." Ouch. There it is again, accountability. Ouch.


   "What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don't they come from your desires that battle within you? You want something but don't get it. You kill and covet, but you cannot have what you want. You quarrel and fight. You do not have, because you do not ask God. When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures."       James 4:1-3 


   I assumed if I could just fix my husband, then everything would fall into place and I would be a much happier person and therefore a better wife, mother, daughter, friend, sister. (Insert birds chirping and the silhouette of a family holding hands, frolicking down a hill at sunset.) That is what I had convinced myself after years of over-analyzing and dissecting it in my own head. Therein lies the problem, I'm in my head too much.


   I am beginning to accept the idea that I don't have all the answers. I don't even have a few of the answers. Nothing I have ever tried has worked. I am convinced there is no self-help book nor a "Top 10" checklist that is going to fix this. I am broken. And the Re|Engage ministry is challenging me to do something different, "Until you acknowledge the brokenness in your own heart and turn to the One who is ready and willing to help you, your relationships will remain broken."  It's worth a shot.  Ok, Jesus.  Take the wheel.


   "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."       John 15:5


[source]
   At this point, I still have my guard up, but the peephole has been widened to the size of a speakeasy door. I'm opening up a little. I'm curious. In the homework, I was asked to admit to times when I have been angry, selfish, prideful, lazy, controlling, and critical. Upon first glance, I wrote off a few already. He is the controlling and critical one, not me.  I fessed up to getting too angry and fighting in front of the girls a few times in the car, being selfish by staying in the living room at night watching my shows instead of coming to bed and possibly being forced to watch the news or sports, and being lazy by not cleaning the house or finishing the laundry when I should, but making plenty of time for the things I enjoy. Still, I am not controlling or critical.

   I wasn't going to let myself off the hook that easily though. I bound myself to my chair and really focused on his point of view, at the inner circle surrounding me.  "Come on," I told myself, "you know when you're driving him nuts. Think about it. When have you irritated him and what were you doing?"

   Then, it clicked. I know that when we are running late he sometimes offers to help get the girls ready so I can get myself ready and we can leave the house quicker. He nicely asks, "Do you want me to get them dressed?" And I snap back, "Noooo. I'll get it." I always tell him "'no" because, honestly, I don't like the outfits he picks out for them. They have such cute clothes and hair accessories, but it doesn't bother him a bit if they wear their old, stained pajamas to the park with their hair in knots. So, instead of letting him pick out whatever he/they want(s) which sends me into convulsions because, "...their outfits don't even match, we are taking pictures at this party, and they're going to outgrow all these cute clothes before they get to wear them and we won't have gotten our money's worth...", and instead of me getting them ready ahead of time as to avoid the issue completely, I just say, "Noooo." Ok. So, I'm a bit controlling. And critical. And, I have a lot to work on.


[source]


   Over the next week I was acutely more aware of my actions, my responses, my manipulations, and my avoidances. Wow. I'm a mess. Who knew? I didn't! Wait. My husband knew. And he loved my anyway. God knew. And He loved me anyway. Hmmm. This is interesting. I'm diving in now.



Lesson 3 - Grace

    "By God's good grace," or "with the grace of God" are common phrases I hear at church all the time, but I've never really stopped to think about their meaning.  "What is Grace?"  According to Re|Engage, "In two words, it's undeserved love." "To Reengage with your spouse, you must follow Christ's example as an initiator. He does not initiate with you because of how lovable you are. He initiates again and again because His love for you is perfect, and His love for you perserveres- even when you're most unlovable." Grace is the footing of our personal relationship with God.


   "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-
and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God..."       Ephesians 2:8



    This was a difficult concept to grasp, to say the least. In our culture today, we tend to view marriage as a contract instead of a covenant. A contract is a bound agreement in which you produce and then are rewarded with pay. A covenant is a promise with God. You can't do anything to get God's grace granted upon you. It has already been given. Since we view marriage as a contract, we expect our spouse to perform and earn our love. And if our spouse doesn't perform accordingly, or at all, then we will not offer our love.  However, when you start to accept that God has granted you kindness, you feel freer to extend grace to others.


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   I can honestly say I have not been a gracious wife. There have been a "couple" times that my husband has inquired what I did the last 24 hours while he was putting out fires and saving lives because dishes were stacked up in the sink, I hadn't showered, and wet laundry was sitting in the washing machine. Nothing is more offensive to me. Now he knows. But the first few times he said that to me, I flew off the handle. I was so angry I could spit fire. "How dare you insult me! How dare you criticize me when I've given up my career, my social life, my body, my identity to stay home all the time and put food in everyone's mouth just so you can all poop it out five minutes later!!" (I'm a real peach.)

   That didn't go over real well (snort) so the next few times I tried something different, "Honey, (taking slow, deep breaths and trying to remain calm), I feel hurt and sad when you say that because I think I work really hard around here and you're saying I am not doing my job well enough." That went right over his head. It had absolutely no affect. Soon, I was back to defending myself and reading him his rights. That's what we're supposed to do, right? We're supposed to say, "I feel (blank) when you (blank)"? We're also taught to stand up for ourselves, to set boundaries, and to not take any flack from anyone, right? As Dr. Phil also used to say, "How's that werkin' for ya?"

   The night we went over our homework in class, my husband shared something I never knew about myself. He told the group that one of the reasons he first fell in love with me was when he would get angry about politics, sports, or money (he is a fiery one) and I would so effortlessly pet his arm or rub his shoulders that my touch would make all his stress melt away. I had the ability to dissuade his hot temper? I had no memory of that. Then, looking back there were a few fuzzy moments I could recall. Though over time, I felt his anger had turned its focus to me too. And because of his "irritability" and my previous heartbreaks before we met, I hardened my heart and moved on. In fact, had he started extending me grace on his own I wouldn't have believed nor would I have accepted it. I would have questioned his motives and rejected it. Hearing I used to be capable of tenderness towards him, and that it made a lasting impression, made me want to peel away the layers and find that sweet girl again.

   Following the lesson on grace, things started to change for us almost immediately. I restrained myself and prevented a couple arguments.  He noticed. It made us both smile. It made our hearts lighter. A weight was definitely lifting. And we were starting to realize it was credited to strengthening our vertical relationship with God.

[source]
 
 
   Now, instead of having a conniption fit and packing his bags for a guilt trip, I make a point to do as much housework as possible after the girls go to bed-rather than doing whatever I feel like completing and assuming he'll understand when he comes home in the morning. And, he doesn't ask if he can help with the dishes if there are some still in the sink.  Now, he just does it...quietly. Baby steps. Small victories. That's what it's all about. I'm in deep.

 
[source]
 
 

 
This is part two of a multi-part marriage series.
 
 
Click on the links below for more.
Preface [Re|Engage.]
 
 
To hear the couple that drew us in, click here.
To hear our mentor couple's testimony (and others), click here.

 


 

 For more information about Re|Engage,

such as a church near you that offers it

or an avenue to bring it to your own church,
please visit:
 

MarriageHelp.org


 

1.09.2013

Special Sights ~ Graphic Spaces

   I've been brainstorming how to redecorate our nursery-turned-playroom for several months. Today, I was searching for bookshelves online and ran into something so whimsical and irresistible that I have to share it with you! Is this bookshelf not the cutest thing you've ever seen?! I am obsessed. Immediately, I began researching where on earth such a wondrous piece of art came from and discovered the gem that is Graphic Spaces!



1.04.2013

Pretty Pictures ~ John Lawrence


   In the midst of the frosty, overcast greys and whites of winter, the golden hues of John Lawrence's artwork in Tiny's Big Adventure (written by Martin Waddell the author of one of our favorites from Lately at the Library, Owl Babies) parts the way and warms your spirit like a steaming bowl of tomato basil soup.  John maximizes his wood engraving expertise to highlight and celebrate a tale about the love between a brother and sister mouse.  The brilliant gold and crimson pop off of the soft brown and blue to create wheat fields of enchantment.

   Random House provides the perfect summary of this charming book by explaining, "Tiny Mouse has never been to the cornfield before, so he’s thrilled that his sister will take him. It’s the perfect place to play games, but it’s also full of strange new sights that make Tiny quiver and call out for his sister, who helps him feel braver. With boldly animated illustrations and a sympathetic story, Tiny’s Big Adventure captures all the excitement — and trepidation — of a first-time experience."  It also shares this starred review from The Horn Book, "Visually lovely and perfectly cadenced, this warm-hearted adventure belongs in every library."


Hastings Beach [source]

   From an author synopsis at Walker Books I learned that "John Lawrence grew up by the sea in Hastings. 'I loved swimming and pottering along the shore,' he says. 'It was terrible when sea defences, barbed wire and tank traps were put up along the South Coast in 1940. But it was really exciting to be allowed back onto the beach and into the sea a few years later, after the war.' John now thinks of himself a something of a workaholic. 'I have illustrated many books for adults and children over the last forty years,' he says. 'It's a particular pleasure to be doing more work for younger children, as I am at the moment.'  John Lawrence has contributed to well over 100 books for children and adults as an illustrator and wood-engraver. He is renowned for his striking images that use tools and methods of engraving from the eighteenth century."

   "John Lawrence is a classic English illustrator and wood engraver, widely regarded as the most eminent of his generation," states his biography on Illustration Cupboard.  "He studied at Hastings Art School and the Central School of Arts and Crafts, where he was introduced to wood engraving by Gertrude Hermes. John went on to teach at Brighton College of Art until 1968, and then at Camberwell School of Art for over thirty years...Recently retired from lecturing at The Cambridge School of Art, MA Degree course in Illustration, John continues to work full time for Random House, Walker Books and The Folio Society. His artwork is included in collections all over the world, both private and public such as the Victoria and Albert in London, and The Ashmolean Museum in Oxford.

‘The Rowlandson of the twentieth-century engraving school…his wit and humour are essentially English.’ Dictionary of Twentieth Century Book Illustrators."


   We will be checking out one of his other acclaimed works, in which he wrote and illustrated, This Little Chick that was named "Best Illustrated Children’s Book of the Year" by the New York Times Book Review .  As a board book (birth +), it would be great to slip into an Easter basket in just a few months!




Carry away your own copy of Tiny's Big Adventure (ages 3-5) here!





If you are a crafty teacher and/or mom and would like to expand on this story with a snack or craft, I think these are precious and simple!


Make a mouse ornament or "It's mice to be your friend!" Valentine's here!



Make an easy and cute mouse bookmark here!

 
 
A quick way to bring a smile to your little one's face, mouse straws!


For a funny snack or appetizer, make Cheese Mice!

  

    Lastly, I'll leave you with some gorgeous shots of wheat fields...dreamy...



[source]


[source]
 




A stunning collection of photographs and editorials here.


Wheat Field Dream by Bob Orsillo
 

1.01.2013

So, this is Christmas.

   I can remember many times growing up, right around the holidays, that I would daydream of a time in my life when I would host a "fun, old fashion family Christmas".  It would play in my mind like an old movie reel and I would soak in the nostalgia of memories that hadn't actually occurred yet.  I could see myself painstakingly unwrapping every ceramic treasure, every glittering ornament, and placing it just so.  And following my husband bullying the strings of lights into submission, everyone would come from their little corners of the world and gather in our home.  We'd spend our days in the living room playing board games while the little ones run in circles.  The evenings would start in the kitchen- all the women busy and scurrying around while the men stood in the next room staring back into the kitchen wondering when dinner would be ready- and end by the fire where everyone lays around with full bellies and listens intently to a reading of The Night Before Christmas.  But of course, we know nothing ever goes as planned, now does it?


This is, by far, the most beautiful version!  Buy it here!


     Prior to becoming an actuality, I realized that no Christmas could/would ever look like that, especially if my uber-dysfunctional family was involved.  With a few turbulent holidays under our belt and an unsuccessful go at family counseling we began to celebrate our flaws.  Each and every year we would gear ourselves up for the inevitable outpourings of Pandora's box by watching Christmas Vacation right after Thanksgiving dinner.  It is the consummate holiday movie.  The makers really thought of everything in this film.  Every inflated dream and the many preparations surrounding the magic and joy of the holidays are built up, then crushed and decimated, leaving behind little more than a laundry list of home repairs for Todd and Margo, and a cat-shaped crater under the armchair in the living room.  The Christmas tree, the shopping trip, the outdoor lights, the afternoon in the attic, the cat in the box, and the jelly-of-the-month club are all of the finest pedigree of comedy.  Only, I think if you really want to include every paradigm of holiday torture in the equation, they forgot one thing: the stomach bug.