(*mmmmawwidge)

Can we just say that marriage is hard?

Can we just say that without me bleeding all over the page, letting you into all the secret places that nobody is supposed to see, especially because I am a - dare I? - pastor's wife??


I know, I know. I am supposed to have it all together! I know, my life is wonderfully easy, perfect kids, husband who loves the Lord, I know, I know, I know!

But can we just say it, can we just admit that life together tends to bring out the worst? Especially close together. Really, really close together.

That closeness, that place where you can scrutinize, psychologize, criticize each and every defect, every irritable trait, every physical blemish, every frustrating agenda, every disagreeable thing; that closeness breeds contempt. It just does.

That's why sometimes it is a good idea to step back for a second and remember. Remember that the stuff I see in the other is one thing. I have my own stuff. I mean, I'm okay with my own stuff. I've had my own stuff for quite some time and I'm comfortable with the fact that I have stuff.

The thing is, I will never move forward in relationship with anyone until I recognize that my stuff is just as big and ugly and their stuff is to me. That's why it's hard. Because their stuff bumps into me and brings out my stuff, that even though I am comfortable with my stuff, it's frustrating to have to deal with my stuff and their stuff at the same time. And that collision makes me feel bad because then I see my stuff in blooming technicolor and it suddenly doesn't look so good or feel so comfortable. I could blame them, I could blame the other for their stuff, thinking it's their fault for bringing out the worst in me. Or I could just know that whatever is inside of me is what comes out when I am squeezed.

Is the fault in the squeezing or in what the squeezing produced?

Ahh, therein lies the rub.

Can we just say that marriage is hard?

(*see Princess Bride)

(brave)

While we sit at our celebratory dinner, I learn about bravery.

My little girl has finished her junior year. She has big plans, and fortunately, a big God who will fulfill His purpose through her.

We eat and share and laugh. Then she opens her mouth and teaches me how to be brave.

"Mom and Dad, could you please both tell me one encouraging thing about me from this year and one criticism?"

I gulp down a mouthful of fish taco and realize that my little girl is growing up fast. Possibly faster than me.

I cannot remember the last time I asked anyone to evaluate my life, speak truth to me, share an area that I need to examine further for sin. To be perfectly honest, I think I would just rather not hear it.

Life is hard enough. So many times I feel as if I do not receive enough encouragement. I need more courage to face the obstacles placed in the path of my existence and I look to others to grant courage in me, en-courage me, so that I can move forward. Criticism feels like it knocks me down and knocks me backwards. I am already hard on myself. Why ask for others to join in?

I blink back the tears and try to be honest with my daughter. After all, she asked. She receives, humbly, smiling, and I am ashamed.

I have blind spots, to be sure. I need the truth spoken into me just like I need the courage spoken into me. Others will see sin that I will explain away, rationalize, and dismiss. Some will even love me enough to reveal it. Because they know.

They know that deep relationship with God is better than appearances. Honest evaluation of my heart will reap honest living. I am broken, there is no denying it. I also have a Binder.

I smile at my daughter, now a senior. And realize that I am the one who is being homeschooled.

(blame)

I have sat for the last hour watching the news.

Like most Americans, I try to stay up on what is going on in the country and around the world so that I can pray, think and vote.

It's interesting.

There have been several, and I mean that as "more than three," instances where a person was being held accountable for their actions. Every time, the person blamed someone else. Or circumstances. Or whatever.

Wow.

I wonder what the issue is with accepting responsibility. I mean, just say, "my bad" and get on with it. Does it matter what is at stake? Does it matter if there are repercussions, punishment? Would they lose their jobs and are they the person that should be answering if others are involved?

This sounds too familiar. Like Adam. Like, "the woman YOU gave me." Like Eve as well, "the serpent tempted me." If you did it, own it. One of our family rules. There is no blame. Your decision, even if influenced, is still your decision.

Of course, I am also deeply convicted. The reason I recognize the desire for, "...but, but" is because I want to be off the hook at least a little. The way I was raised, the limits of my creative brain for organization, my personality all gang up against me and I just cannot live right! Paul and I agree, I do all that stuff I don't want to do! However, as I feel the weight of the rock in my hand poised to throw, I have to acknowledge that I am not without sin. Blame is very convenient. Blame gives my conscience some relief, short-lived as it is. Blame makes me feel better.

But blame is lame. You cannot repent of blame. You can repent of sin. Sin can be forgiven. I am so thankful for the gospel, that Jesus paid the price. As the Law holds me accountable, God's Grace flows down and covers me.

And the truth sets me free.

(writing)

So, today my husband sat me down and encouraged me to write. Not just write, but try to write everyday so that I can improve my chops in writing, trying to increase my creative instinct and be proactive.

Hmm.

See, I took a break from writing my blog because, frankly, Ann Voskamp covers everything pretty well and sounds beautiful doing it. I feel like I should just put a link to her blog on here and be done with it.

However, my husband is right. Eww. I actually wrote that. I will never hear the end of it now.

I am reminded of a quote by Henry Van Dyke, "Use what talents you possess: The woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best."

I guess it's hard for artists, when we put ourselves out there, our very hearts. It's a vulnerable, soft place. Rejection stings all the more in raw places, places where we open our wounds and our dreams. The underbelly of our souls gets exposed. If somebody says "yuck," they are saying yuck to me, me personally, not just my lasagna or my house or my style. Me. Me and my little self.

So how to navigate this? As an artist, if I am not real and really me, I have an out, but then I will always wonder. If I hold back, what have I gained? Nothing. Love me or hate me, it has to be me, all out there. All or nothing.

But then, I have this great privilege. Because God has graced my life, found me and transformed my heart and become my Lord, I get to share all of the amazing ways He is working in me and my family. He receives all the glory from those blessings. I can point past myself to Him. And He becomes even more powerful because I am so very weak. I have earned the "yuck;" He has earned the praise.

The writing continues.