A Better Kind of Different

There is a pretty interesting vortex of things "working" on me right now.

The first is that it's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo, for short; or NaNo, for shorter). As you know, James is participating. I am not. I was recently thinking about the NaNo M.O. of "Sorry, it has to wait until December" and mulling over the fact that I find that an excuse to be rude, and how that's not okay. Mostly, I was licking my own wounds because, this might come as a shock to you, but I have some pretty high needs (and, in James' case, expectations) in a relationship. November is always one of my favorite months. But I don't like being put off, even in good humor and even knowing it's temporary.

By the way, James won't read this post, so it's not a passive/aggressive missive to him. He won't read it because it's November. He won't read it because he doesn't read my blog, anyway, unless I tell him that there's something in there that he really needs to see. He only reads tech blogs, and as much as I want to please him, I can't even fathom that.

Go, Linux! (There. Maybe he'll see it. *shrug*)

A week ago, I went to bed on Tuesday at about 9:00 PM because I was in a snit and didn't want to get any of it on my family. I wasn't particularly tired, so I ended up getting a lot of praying in. And I felt better Wednesday morning.

It's a revelation when I don't say words I want to say that, miraculously, they can dissipate over time. They don't *have* to be said. Incredible.

This weekend, I even wrote a short letter. Which I didn't give James. I deleted it. But last night and this morning struck me the most, and that's when I started thinking about why and how I am sucking up a lot of what I'm "feeling" right now, and how that's playing out in one of the main goals of my life, which is to love James completely and perfectly (read: without self-seeking, pettiness, etc.).

First of all, Daphne and I re-started Bible Study Fellowship in September. We're studying Matthew, and particularly, for the past few weeks, the Sermon on the Mount and Jesus' healing ministry. Secondly, I just finished reading a book entitled "Jesus Feminist." I was about to say "Finally," but there's one more after this. Anyway, thirdly, Daphne and I are listening to "The Hiding Place." AND, finally, everything always at my church is about reconciliation and renewal, large scale and small.

Last year, before NaNoWriMo, when James was still living in Dallas, he warned me about his singular focus during this month. I told him that I wasn't sure I could handle an entire month of his preoccupation. He said, "You will. Because you know it's important to me."

I don't know if he meant this as a reprimand or a misplaced affirmation of faith, but I determined to make him right, When I went to bed early last Tuesday, it was with that phrase repeating over and over in my head: "You know it's important to me..."

But then last night, and this morning, my silence when I felt hurt or passed over was due to a slightly different motivation.

In Corrie ten Boom's history, long before her family's involvement in the Nazi regime, a young man after whom she had pined for most of her life showed up on her doorstep, engaged to a woman of means. Her father, rather than comforting her that there might be other loves in her life, encouraged her to ask God to help her love this young man with His love (rather than trying to stop loving him). She did this, she asked God to help her love this man as he did, to the point that she could be genuinely happy for him and his family.

And in hearing that, several things hit me at once:

1) I want to love James perfectly, and I'm absolutely unable to do it in my own strength. I am much too concerned about whether or not things are the way that I feel are "right" or whether or not I'm getting "enough" attention. The only way I'm going to be able to love James the way that I want to is through the example of Jesus and the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. I'd posted a Dr. Laura quote on Facebook the other day, something to the extent of "Every morning, ask, 'What can I do to make him happy he's alive?' and 'What can I do to make him happy he's married to me?'" This is what I want for him.

2) This is a transcendent relationship. I know that being married is work, and constant attention, and refinement. But our relationship doesn't feel like swimming upstream against a torrent of white water and rain and locusts and bullets and fire bombs. It's, dare I say it, pretty comfortable and easy. I don't have to fight. I don't have to wrangle for affection or acknowledgement. James gives these things freely. Why is it still my tendency to fight? Isn't fighting for something that's already being granted (at his time and pleasure) basically inviting resentment and withholding of the very thing that is most important to my heart? Plus, it creates the opposite atmosphere of the one I want to have in our house. And so, I need to re-calibrate and stop defaulting to struggle mode.

3) It's a marathon, not a sprint. Sometimes, it's difficult for me to rest in the fact that we have years and years together. Last summer, I went up to Dallas to visit James, and a really neat surprise I had for him fell through. I was bummed because he had all of these awesome stories of adventure and fun with other people in his life, and I desperately wanted some of those cool memories. A year later, we have a few. We're constantly making more. It takes time. We have time. James might come home every night this month and lose himself in his novel, but he's still sleeping by my side. He still takes every opportunity to tell me how much he appreciates me. And there's always December. And January. And 11 whole other months, every year for the next few decades. I find peace in that. I need to be able to rest in it.

4) The more I stop myself from saying what's on my mind, the easier it is. The more I fight my selfish impulses and demands, the less powerful they become. Last night, I went in to the office to tell James goodnight, and he indicated that he'd still be a while. I thought of a lot of stuff I could have said. Mostly manipulative stuff that wouldn't have made him pack it in for the night, but certainly would have been meant to take the shine off of his enjoyment at least a little bit. Instead, I kissed him, I turned around, and I went to bed.

This morning, I got his breakfast ready and he sat down to eat it. I was cleaning out the sink and asking myself why I wasn't sitting with him when what I craved most was his company. At first, I reasoned that if I sat down right now, I'd be too tempted to complain about how little I see of him right now. Then I realized that was an excuse, and I was avoiding him as a stupid baby kind of payback. So I sat with him and enjoyed him very much... until I said something that he wanted to research. He got up and disappeared into his office. He always says I'm quick-witted, but really, I'm mostly quick-tongued. With the words, "If I'd known that would make you get up and come in here, I never would have said it" in my mouth, I walked to the doorway of his office... and stopped. Why throw those darts? So I kept silent. A few moments later, James came out of his office, frustrated with a problem he was having with the computer. My words would have added to his stress. Instead, he could focus being irritated on the computer, and still think I was wonderful.

I hope it just gets easier and easier until I don't even feel those self-focused impulses anymore. It's true that I want my husband around. He's pretty awesome, and his company is my favorite. But he has given and sacrificed and changed and worked so hard for me... for us. I can give him this. I can give him this month. He deserves it. Eventually, it won't be such a struggle to "act nice" about it; I want to "feel nice" about it. I love him. He loves me. We have time. We have each other.