muckety-muck heart--time for Truth!

(Fair warning--now that I have finished seeing what my fingers would type this morning, it is pretty self-indulgent muck.  So, if you are at all interested in reading disgruntled pampered housewife stuff, please continue.  If you are having your own hard season--please don't read this.  It might be a trigger for you.  If you do read it, please hear my battered heart speaking, and don't be cruel.  I am laying out my ugly to expose it for what it is, so I can try to sweep it away more fully.  And because maybe my ugly will resonate with your own ugly, and you will be glad I shared it so you don't have to. ; ) 

I have the rare free morning today--my three girls are at their first day of the State-mandated STAR (standardized) testing.  My dear Becky took her girls and mine (we have to drive up to the site in the Santa Cruz mountains, so a good 30 minutes away, much more with traffic), and in a few hours I need to drive up to collect them again.  But in the meantime, Smiley is content with DH's touchpad, playing Angry Birds on my bed while I am here at the computer.  I just finished reading blogs and drinking my tea.  It feels like I should do something really good with this rare moment of quiet--at the very least, blog! 

But I'm kinda brain-dead, and my spirit is a little dry.  I don't feel very conversational.  And I'm definitely feeling a little negative.  So. . .  I think I'll tell you a story about my morning, just a few minutes of the day that speak volumes. 

My Dear Husband, at 8:50 this morning (as he was supposed to be heading out the door to pick up his carpool buddy), comes to me and starts a conversation, supposedly about "getting my recommendations."  Turns out tonight his men's group at church is having a Mexican-themed potluck.  Um, hmmm. 

So, DH, what are you going to take?  Uncomfortable silence as he thinks what to say. Yes, I am getting the feeling at this point that he wants me to volunteer, brightly, to whip up something for him to take. I'm not wanting to volunteer.  I want him to ask, if that's what he wants, and not hem and haw.  It's a hot button topic for me in our marriage--me feeling like I'm treated like I'm the house slave.  Not attractive of me to confess, but there you go. I'm still not fully reconciled to housewifery as my Dear Husband, that 1950's throwback, enjoys it.  It feels too often like those duties are beneath his attention, and yet I'm supposed to eagerly fulfill them, nay, anticipate them.  So it feels like at this moment, in my hard-heartedness, the least he can do is actually ask me to do it, if that is what he wants.

Last time you took chips and salsa, so are you planning on stopping by Trader Joe's on your way to church?  He thinks someone else is bringing chips and salsa.  (Smiley at this point is interrupting and I divert my attention away from DH for a moment to get Smiley to stop.  DH walks off and starts to get ready to leave.  I can tell my husband is frustrated, so I initiate resuming the conversation, so he knows I care about his Mexican pot-luck "recommendations" request.)

You indicated you wanted recommendations.  Was that all, or was there something more you wanted to ask about?  He says something about not knowing what to take, and wanting suggestions. Um-hmmmm.

Well, what about salad?  That's not really Mexican, but you could stop at TJ's and grab a couple of bags of pre-made salad, and they have some really good fresh cilantro salad dressing you could put on top. He does not comment, but does not seem to like this idea.  He pulls out his touchpad to show me the spreadsheet of what the other guys are bringing. Looks like someone else is bringing chips and dip.  And, honestly, there looks like plenty of food already in the works.  Not sure they really need more, but I applaud DH's instinct not to show up empty-handed.  He asks me what category it looks like they might still need food for.

Well, nobody is bringing fruit.  You could do that. And I suggest he take a big bowl and spoon and clean knife with him, and stop at TJ's to buy grapes, frozen pineapple chunks and frozen mango chunks and just toss it all into a big bowl and squeeze a lime over it and call it a salad. Easy, and would complement Mexican well.

He asks, with a hint of skepticism in his voice, if I think fruit goes with Mexican food. My interpretation: He thinks this is not a good suggestion. Fruit is somehow embarrassing, not a worthy contribution to the manly feast.  Either that or he really does not want to put forth any effort whatsoever in his contribution, and running to the store and opening a couple of bags and mixing stuff together sounds like too much of a hassle.  (Which is why it is so perfect for the stay-at-home-wifey to do it, am I right?)

There is another uncomfortable pause.  The weight of the unspoken is heavy in the air, hard to ignore any further, probably like the Fellowship room at church will be after the guys finish all their refried beans.  I give in to the guilt, but still try to word it so he has to at least actually ask me to do this for him.

Well, if you wanted me to, I could make something.  But we don't have the ingredients here, so I would have to run to the store, and I need to get to church to drop off something, and need to pick up the kids when their testing is over, and then take them to play practice. . . . In other words, I've got my day planned, and my planning did not involve running to any grocery stores or making food our family is not going to be eating, and it is not at all convenient for me to have to rearrange my day just because you did not think to mention this culinary need further in advance.

In OTHER words, how dare you infringe upon MY day with your husbandly desires.  I was really looking forward to sitting in my pajamas for a few hours catching up on blog reading and having that big peanut butter cookie I went all Lent without.  And then, even if my errands will take me quite close to various stores, and I might even be able to arrange to do it when I only have one child with me (or even none, since play practice is at Becky's and I am sure she would be glad to watch Smiley while I run to the store), and it makes sense for the stay-at-home parent to do such errands while the working parent is, um, working, I still don't want to do it.  Not without being formally asked.  Not without the spoken recognition of what you are asking me to do for you, to sacrifice for you, of the flaw in your character that makes you ask me to do what is easy for me but which you don't really feel comfortable doing and so naturally look to foist upon me.

In OTHER words, I am such a bitch sometimes.

He wouldn't ask me to go to the store and make food.  So the conversation just fizzled out, unresolved, and he left for work.

It is possible that he wasn't asking because he was trying to be sensitive.  He put out feelers, like we do in any conversation with someone, and we hope they will volunteer their own vision of how they might fit into our wishes, because we don't want people to feel taken advantage of--so much better if their involvement comes from their own willing mouths.  Because if we have to ask, maybe then they will feel like they have to do it, like they can't politely say no.  Sometimes we use this to our advantage. But most of the time we don't like the feeling of someone helping because they felt coerced. 

So that would be really ironic--if DH was attempting to be polite with me, hoping I would offer my help, but I was taking it the opposite and feeling disrespected.  Because if someone wants something, they should be willing to ask for it.  But then, isn't that kind of a power game?  Knowing what the person wants, but refusing to give it to them unless they somehow acknowledge your power as the One Who Can Say Yes or No?  I was thinking of Becky, and how when anyone asks anything of her, she is super quick to say, with natural grace, "Of course, absolutely!"  Immediately makes a person feel loved and supported.  Granted, she is a people pleaser, but ironically so am I.  It's just with my husband I have this bad thing in my heart where I struggle with feeling taken advantage of, feeling unappreciated, feeling like my work is considered menial and not worth his own time or effort, feeling like I have no choice but am viewed as a slave.

Clearly, time for a little Truth to counter all this sin-heavy yuck.

Truth:  My Dear Husband does not actually treat me like a slave.  He is just a normal guy, oblivious to some things, but trying to be a good husband overall.  I put my own mental spin on his actions and words to make them unhelpful for my heart.

Truth:  One of our family values, which you will hear me telling my children over and over like a mantra is that in our family, we do whatever is most loving and helpful.  Um, yeah.  Way to go, there, setting the standard for everyone else in the house.

Truth:  God calls me to be His servant.  To spend my life serving.  It is my privilege to serve those I love.

Truth:  It does not feel like that in my heart.  Something wounded, small and angry in my heart makes me very easily resentful of my family wanting things from me.  Most of the time this hard little ball of black fire is very small and tucked away, only flaring up when I am vulnerable and low blood-sugar.  But sometimes it feels like it's right behind my eyes, so hard and hot I want to weep.  Not because I feel so sorry for myself, but because I hate that I even have these thoughts, these feelings.  I fully admit I am not the nicest person to my loved ones at times, and I wish that was not true.

Truth:  Every marriage has "hot buttons" and both parties just need to learn to recognize them (in themselves and in the other), bring them out into the open for what they are, and then together choose to work around them.  I feel like we have been working on such things for years, and sometimes have what feel like real marital/interpersonal breakthroughs, but it depresses me to think how much things like this still can have a hold on me, on him, can so easily interfere with our good married life.

(Once, when we were Seniors in college, he and his roommate were planning to go see a concert of a band I very much wanted to go see, who was one of my favorites in H.S. and who would likely never tour again.  I knew DH was going for a whole week, and even hinted that I would love to go too.  Oh, we were dating at the time--and had been, seriously, for over two years.  I kept thinking he would invite me to go too, and was increasingly incredulous that he hadn't--until the night of the concert, when he came into my apartment a few minutes before they needed to go, and asked if I wanted to come along.  I was so mad at that point--I would not even have time to change clothes, or do my concert-ready makeup, you know, all the stuff a college girl wants to do--and told him if he wanted me to go with him, he should have asked me earlier in the week.  I felt like I had been dissed, big-time.  So I said, no, I did not want to go now, because it was too late.

So, clearly, we are still working through something interpersonal, some unfortunate communication-style, or set of expectations, even now after 5 years of dating and 17 of marriage!  Pathetic. And depressing.) 

Back to more Truth:  I am sure part of my Dear Husband's (unwillingness?  reticence? stubbornness?) lack of clear communication when we are in such an interpersonal horn-lock is due to his family dynamics growing up.  His mother speaks her mind very freely about anything she has an opinion on, but does not come right out and say anything she wants. There is such a fascinating and important distinction here--she does not want to place herself in the less powerful (i.e. more vulnerable) position of being the Asker.  And I think she is insecure (as many of us are) about how her wants will be viewed by others--for all that she is quick to comment, advise, etc. on other people's lives, she is actually very private about her own personal things.  Instead, she hints at what she wants, and tries to get you to do it through less vulnerable (and ultimately less pleasant) methods, like scolding, ranting, deriding or applying guilt.  DH's father just does not say much at all, and has learned over the years to just be as accommodating as possible.  So where would DH have learned to communicate differently?   He usually does a great job communicating well with me.  But sometimes he does not--just hints and then gets mad if I don't do what he wanted, because he insists "I knew" what he wanted and was just pretending I didn't know, because I don't love him.

Most of the time this is not true.  Every now and then, it is.  Like this morning. 

Now, I don't know for sure what he wanted this morning.  That's another legitimate reason why I wanted him to spit it out.  But I had a very strong idea.  And I chose to make him struggle with knowing what to say, allowing him (wanting him?!) to feel guilty about whatever he wanted.  Let me clarify--I did not want him to feel guilty about wanting me to make something.  But I wanted him to acknowledge that 1) he was asking something of me that was a little bit of a big deal, that 2) he should have remembered to plan for and ask me about sooner, that 3) it's not fair to expect me to do things for him that he is not willing to do for himself.

More Truth:  Going to the store and making food is inconvenient, but not really a big deal.  Esp. today, when I have so much flexibility with my time (except for those specific times today when I don't).

Truth: Yes, he should have remembered.  Yes, he should have asked me sooner. But we just got back from spending Easter with his family, and yesterday were in "getting back into the headspace of regular life" mode and while I spent some time looking at the calendar and making sure I was not forgetting something important, I have not always remembered to do so.  It could well have been me to forget I needed to prepare food for something.  This is not a personal flaw on his part--it's just life.

Truth:  And so is this personal communication dynamic between us.  No sense in getting mad and trying to punish either of us over it--just move on and get refocused on what I want our marriage to BE not dwell on whatever negative it sometimes is.

Truth:  I'm not really mad at him.  I'm just feeling a little weary, and feeling taken for granted is a sore spot for me.  And I really need to cut him some slack, considering *he was likely not asking because he was trying not to be inconsiderate.*  (Well, either that or he wanted me to read his mind and offer, and he is as miffed at me at this moment as I am at him.)  But I need to assume the best of my spouse, esp. since I have specifically asked him in our marriage to try to assume the best of me.   

Truth:  If he had asked me, and just said, "I'm sorry this is short notice--I forgot all about it.  Do you think you could do this for me?" I would have likely sighed and not been nearly as gracious as my dear Becky, but I would have said "Sure." And I would be going about my day without any further negative thoughts on the matter.

And you would have been spared this overly long, somewhat depressing post.

Final Truth:  I am at this moment focused on myself, and not God.  That changes everything, and makes me forget that I serve Him and not myself. 

Time to lay down myself.

You would think it would be hard to forget how Jesus laid down himself for me, so soon after crying over His sacrifice in the church service Easter morning.

You would think I would remember our Scripture reading from last week, about how Jesus, knowing what he would do for all of humankind, told those who wanted to follow him to "take up your cross daily."  He knew it would be hard.  It would be painful.  It would not come naturally, and we would have to choose to do it, over and over.  Choose to lay aside our own worldly desires.  Choose to take up that which means the very death of our sinful (and self-focused) natures. 

Christ died so that I could happily make my husband some Mexican food.  So that I would have complete freedom from the bondage of sin to fully love.

Crying now.  He's got me where He wants me.  I  am sooooooooo ashamed. 

But the tears release that hot hardness that was locked inside me today.  This path of thought--this time spent blogging, of all things--has shown me my wickedness, and has brought me to repentance.

Once again, in His mercy, He meets me right where I am.  And He lifts me up out of the muck of my own heart!



My husband is not perfect.  I'm not perfect.  But God's love is Perfect, and it covers all wrongs.

Thank God.