September 2016

Year 2, Week 13: A Prayer for Family

I have to give my hubby credit. When I request a book recommendation, he takes the request very seriously. I have to wonder what exactly he considers when he narrows down his choices for me but, this time, he sent the first of the Immortal Descendants series, April White’s Marking Time to my Kindle. The book is awesome. It makes me think and wonder and imagine – and I love stories that can do that.

But this week isn’t meant to be a book review; instead, I want to share an excerpt that stood out to me as I reflect on my family.

“Can I ask you something, Miss Simpson?”
“I’ll answer what I can.”
“Why are the Families at war?”
Miss Simpson busied herself pouring the tea. “That’s an enormous question with an even bigger answer, I’m sure you realize.”
“Actually, I didn’t realize. I thought it might be simple.”
She smiled wryly. “The enormity comes from the fact that each Family will give a different version of the truth. All will be true, but like any painting, until all the colors are applied to the canvas, you’ll never be able to see the whole picture.”
I nodded. “Got it.”

Conflict in family is so difficult to witness, not even considering the stress and tension that can overcome you if you yourself are in the throes of it. One day, you’re delicately overturning a shiny mosaic vase in your hands, proud of all the pieces and marveling how, although so differently crafted, all the segments just fit. The next day, however, someone accidentally bumps into the shaky mantle (because what family can claim they’re unshakeable, really?) and the once-shiny mosaic is dulled. A piece or two have fallen out – the crack is no longer unmistakeable and the observer finds himself insecurely asking, “How long has that fissure been there?” “Could we have prevented this?” And, perhaps most commonly wondered is “Why me?”

The rough part of conflict is that both sides are wondering “Why me?” while pointing fingers in opposite directions. Self-righteousness, stubbornness and pride tend to rule supreme for as long as someone keeps throwing flames into the fire.

The question that my own faith forces me to focus on, however, is “Where can the healing begin?” Really. How naive and stupid, right? Life doesn’t work that way, Ania. Get with the times.

And yet.

I’ve also studied human nature enough (Thanks, psychology and literature!) to know that preventative maintenance is a must. So here’s my prayer for my own family – the ones who are alive and the ones who are to join it.

Prayer for Healing in Family
In its best moments,
family is the reflection of Your Love, Lord.
In its most trying moments,
family is the opportunity to show Your Mercy.
Have mercy on your earthly family, Lord,
and remind us that we belong to each other.
Let there be healing where there are experiences of
miscommunication,
mistrust,
and inevitable mistakes.
Give us the courage to embrace each other
instead of allowing the poison of anger
to destroy the roots of prosperity and hope.
Soften hearts that have been hardened
and let them move with compassion.
May divisions be healed and new life bloom
so that we can be examples for others of Your good and gracious Love.

We ask this through Jesus Christ, Our Lord.

Amen.

"Individually unique, together complete!" — “Individually unique, together complete!”

Year 2, Week 12: And the wall came crumbling down

The scariest part was not realizing how tall the wall was getting. The best part was realizing even the tallest walls can be knocked down.

The scariest part is realizing I didn’t even know when the wall started coming back. I say “coming back” because I know exactly when it came down the first time. You’d think it was a few months after we met, when I fell head over heels and sent my single card back to Cupid. It usually happens that way, right? You find The One, trust him with everything you own and live happily ever after. That’s the narrative we hear and believe, but it wasn’t the story I was living. No, my wall was still standing straight, tall and proud, right until a few weeks before our wedding.

I realized I had a choice to make – either continue to protect my heart like I had been doing (But what happens if he leaves!? I can’t afford to spend time picking up broken pieces! It’s better to keep the styrofoam or un-poppable bubble wrap tight around me for as long as I can) OR I can love the man with everything I have and make our marriage worth protecting.

And so with my decision to be open to whatever may come our way, my wall came tumbling down – and the results were better than I had imagined. Because I allowed myself to be completely vulnerable (which basically means you walk around with your underwear showing the whole time and trust the man not to give you a wedgie), I felt more love and more magic than if I had only let him visit me through the window that only opened between 7:30 and 7:45 every morning. If you want to visualize vulnerability a bit more romantically, it’s like giving him a shovel to the soul that is your garden where he can either sow fruit or wreak poisonous havoc. Thankfully, my guy likes apples.

In hindsight, I see the sign clearly marking the construction site for The Wall somewhere between “I’m the happiest wife ever” and “You want to go to Mexico for three months?” But, in the moment, the wall sprang up and the only way I recognized it was when I was surprised to find my old friends (disinterest and defensiveness) had returned. I found in myself…

…a lack of curiosity in things he found fascinating (why should I think it’s interesting if he’s just going to leave for Mexico?)

….muffled laughter and shy smiles (How in the world can he be so happy right now, when our relationship is about to be separated by hundreds of miles?) Yes, I know, the drama queen was alive and well; I’m not proud.

…spending way more time on things I enjoyed versus spending time at home (for distraction? So I could start getting used to spending time on my own, now that he’d be away?)

Long story short, the defense mechanisms were at high alert and ready to fire. I lost my sensitivity, my empathy and, most undesirably, my willingness to sacrifice.

This all led to an unhappy wife and a confused husband.

I reached out to an “unofficial” mentor of ours and he said very simply, “Dinner and communication. Talk at dinner. Turn off the TV and sit at the table together.” And so I threw myself into those little moments. This video helped nudge a small stone from the structure, hitting me squarely in the forehead so I would pay attention.

I would try and squeeze his hand back when it rested on my lap. I would look into his eyes when he was telling me something he found thought-provoking (apparently My Wall keeps eyes from connecting). I would stop to text him “Love you” in the middle of the day (I had stopped, I realized, to “train” for the days I wouldn’t be able to talk to him for days while he’d be away).

And, finally, I put down my own wants when he needed me this week. It was this last experience that shook the wall and struck the largest bricks down. By putting my own worries aside to help Cody (I didn’t get to relax on the couch but drove instead to retrieve him from a train station tucked deeper in the city than our nearest depot), I realized he hasn’t gone any where, and I cannot decide to stop being a receptive wife now just because I’m worried that I won’t know how to be a good wife from far away.

This last month has taught me a lot about myself and my marriage. If you’re still reading (and aren’t my husband or immediate family and friends), I commend you. There’s a lot of yucky stuff in here. But it’s all true. The crazy part is, I haven’t even shared the deepest roots of what we’re working through together. This is just the muck at the surface. Maybe our metaphorical microscope will reveal it in the future. But maybe it just doesn’t need to be. The wall is down for now, and I couldn’t be more relieved.

I love this photo because it's a capture of a Sunday that sees some papers to grade with time out buttons that magically appear after I write down some arbitrary grade that is supposed to rate the thoughts of a human being I am only beginning to know. I press the desk on my way to Cody's own work station on the floor, and nuzzle my head into his shoulder to remind him that his words are the ones I fell in love with first. — I love this photo because it’s a capture of a Sunday that sees some papers to grade with time out buttons that magically appear after I write down some arbitrary grade that is supposed to rate the thoughts of a human being I am only beginning to know. I press the desk on my way to Cody’s own work station on the floor, and nuzzle my head into his shoulder to remind him that his words are the ones I fell in love with first. Instagram @theaniassey

Year 2, Week 11: The dreaded Second Year returns

It’s official: The second year of a relationship is always the hardest.

I remember watching my friends fall hard and fast for a guy, be on cloud nine for a year, and then call asking for advice when things all-of-a-sudden started getting rocky.

I told them that this is normal (they breathed a sigh of relief), but then share my theory that whether they can make it through the second year will determine whether they make it in the long run (even if it was only 3-5 years, that’s successful according to today’s standards).

The second year is when things start to get serious and questions are asked – the honeymoon period is ending and reality becomes a – well – reality.

You start wondering if this is the One. And when things start to become difficult (as they do, in “reality”), we automatically jump to our conclusion: “Well, if he/she was really meant for me, then I wouldn’t feel like this, would I?”

This is toxic thinking and it ends relationships, over and over again. Love is not a feeling; it is a choice. And sometimes the choice is sacrifice, and that’s why love hurts. But I’m getting off topic and that’s just my opinion.

So I guess it shouldn’t have come as that big of a surprise that, when I had the theme of this week’s reflection come to mind, it threw me for a loop.

Who knew we’d have to go through another “second year” in marriage?

The excitement of the engagement, the emotional and logistical preparations for our marriage, the gorgeous memories from our wedding day, the honeymoon, and the exciting transition into building a home and routine together have become cursive words in a diary and photos hanging in our home.

The second year has brought up all the stuff we thought we knew, but have kind of let sit beneath the surface all this time, which is a surprise because I thought we had gone through all that “stuff” before we got married. That was always the goal anyway. The second year has brought up all the little things that we have forgotten could be endearing (like Cody’s incessant snapping and clapping, which he swears is not an expression of anxiety and impatience) and difficult truths that run deeper than dust (like my tendency to, for whatever reason, assume the worst of intentions from the man I should trust the most).

The second year has brought up ideas of beginning a family, but not knowing “when” we’ll be ready (Ha! Is anyone ever really ready and prepared for parenthood?). It’s brought up core differences in our philosophies: he’s a planner and has no problem playing chess with circumstances and the wheel of fortune. I, on the other hand, have no problem giving Jesus the wheel and whispering in submission, “Thy Will Be Done”. You’d think these two seemingly opposing world views would doom the relationship – and maybe this really would be enough cause for a couple to sign divorce papers –

but we’re not those people.

Our long distance journey was the climbing of a mountain. It was long, arduous, seemingly never-ending, but there were those trips where we finally got to see each other that allowed us to breathe and admire the view of our efforts. When the road got hard again, we at least had the memories of the last rest-stop that kept one foot climbing in front of the other for the continuing journey, as painful as it would become.

I’d like to say that our long-distance love has prepared us for this very moment in our marriage (and yes, it really is only a moment in the scheme of time). I believe long distance living helped us develop a kind of grit that keeps us going.

Grit. According to Wikipedia, it is a positive, non-cognitive trait based on an individual’s passion for a particular long-term goal or end state, coupled with a powerful motivation to achieve their respective objective.

So here’s a status report: We’re still on this beautiful mountain of ours, and the last couple years were admittedly gorgeous sights admired from a plateau. We had found really huge boulders to climb onto and just watch, hold hands, and “oo” and “ahh” at all the sights we got to see just because we made it so far.

But then it started to rain a little, as it does. We didn’t do anything wrong; in fact, if we want green pastures, we have to embrace the drizzle. The precipitation, however, has caused for some muddier trails and less clear paths. We’re still holding hands, but sometimes it feels like he has to go ahead of me and all that’s left to hold on to is his pinky finger. Other times, I want to take a different road than what he’s had planned in mind, and this causes a stand-in with frowns on our faces.

Until we can discuss a more strategic plan that compromises both our philosophies, we’ll just take baby steps. There may be shoes lost in the process, but his hand is more important to hold on to.

Gotta learn to dance in the rain, baby.

The rain didn't stop us from picture-posing in Colorado, so I don't see why it would stop us now. — The rain didn’t stop us from picture-posing in Colorado, so I don’t see why it would stop us now.

Year 2, Week 10: Never make assumptions

It was a fun week of swimming, hanging out with my parents, hosting a large party (that had awesome reviews – yay!), and finding our way onto a beach to read and relax. That’s what we did but it’s not what was really on my mind.

I’ll try to be clear, but it’s going to be vague, so prepare yourselves.

It’s official: it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, you will experience miscommunication.

My mistake was assuming that we had moved passed the capability of being in the midst of a conflict spurred on by one of us not understanding the other. Turns out that, when new experiences arise, new conversations have to be had, and if you and he have never been in a certain scenario before – and you don’t actually hold the other person’s worldview (as much as you’re proud of knowing as much as you know) – there will be miscommunication that grew from an assumption that somebody made.

If this doesn’t make sense, that’s okay. I didn’t really believe it until this last week – and it still boggles my mind. How did I misunderstand his intentions so much?

If it’s annoying you that I’m being so vague, that’s because this is how I felt all week: feeling my way around, following one interpretation until it turned out to be wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.