Straight Talk about Marriage

Someone recently commented on my blog bio that states, "I have a successful marriage of 16 years."  Why not, they wondered, write something like "I've been happily married for 16 years."  Let me state for the record that it was intentional.

Anyone who has been married long enough to get sick, lose a job, have a child, or buy a house knows this:  Marriage is not a constant state of bliss.  Instead, it is a way of life, a choice, an opportunity to be the best person I can be in both blissful moments and extremely challenging ones.  Moreover, it shows me - from time to time -- at my best, most noble self and frankly, occasionally at my worst.  I believe it was Judith Viorst who brilliantly said, "The advantage of marriage is that, when you fall out of love with him or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you maybe you fall in again."  Aint that the truth?

Sometimes the challenges come from the little things. I let the laundry pile up -- or worse left it strewn across the floor -- or he didn't pay the bills.  These everyday challenges are opportunities to step it up, to be the bigger person, or -- conversely -- to learn to speak our minds.  We all have our things we can overlook:  I can overlook unpaid bills but phone calls not returned activate my mind.  He can overlook any kind of mess in the house, but he needs my full attention for at least a few minutes every day. That's how he knows I care.

I think the real test is when the challenges are bigger.  I was really ill the first year of our marriage; it tested our relationship.  When my dear sister in law became suddenly ill and then passed away two weeks later, it challenged us in ways I had not thought possible.  We did not weather that storm so well;  I have always heard that death either unites or separates;  in fact I believe that loss untied us in some ways. 

As we unraveled as a couple, we bound ourselves to other things; we both threw ourselves into our work, we sought solace in other places.  In the end, it led to acts of infidelity.  This, I understand, is not entirely uncommon.  In the end, though, the thread that unravels can also be the tie that binds.  We remembered, miraculously, our love for each other; we reminded ourselves of the commitment we'd made to our family and friends when we married.  Perhaps most importantly, we each made a choice to keep our word, which at the end of the day, is the most valuable thing we have.

Marriage is not all work, but it's not all play either.  I am saying this as much to remind myself as for you, dear reader.  It is a commitment and an act of faith; it takes "faithing into." In my next post I will talk more about what that "faithing into" looks like for us.

Building Character

Sun sprinkled spring beauties

Several weeks ago when we were beginning work on our side-yard landscaping project, Pepper came out to lend a hand.  At nearly 15, she is strong and fit.  She helped me move the sod that Paul was cutting and transfer it to another spot.  It was hard, sweaty work so we kept our chatting to a minimum.

Finally she said, "I love hard work."
"Me too!," I replied.
"Why do you think we like it so much?"
I pondered that a moment.  "It builds character."

She laughed.  "Isn't that just something adults say to make kids work?"

Actually, no.  I believe it.  I think we were designed to work hard.  Hard work shows us that we are capable.  It reinforces the fact that we are "wonderfully made."  It reminds us we are strong and resilient.  It makes us sleep soundly at the end of the day.

Working hard reminds us that we are actually a privileged "few."  For most people on our small planet, everyday life is hard work.  It is humbling to know that people who may have far less to eat and a less luxurious bed are somehow able to work longer and harder with a lot less complaint.

I think working hard alongside others is bonding in a primal and deeply satisfying way.  We are communal creatures and we are meant to struggle together, not alone.  Somehow, looking back at a job well done is so much more fulfilling when we can say, "We did it," rather than, "I did it."  

Culturally, we tend to blame the obesity epidemic on fast and processed foods.  I believe our "fast" lifestyle with the lack of hard work is a huge contributor to this epidemic.  My great grandparents traveled on horseback, used a wringer washer, washed all their dishes by hand, cut and hauled wood to cook on the wood stove, cut the yard with a reel mower, grew much of their own food, cared for their animals, and even walked outside every time they needed the outhouse.  My life of microwaves, dishwashers, indoor plumbing, automobiles and grocery stores is so lacking in work.

That day, working alongside both the girls and Paul, I felt bonded to my community.  I loved having the little ones playing nearby and the feel of the sun on my neck.  I loved having time to contemplate my life but no room for the internet, the telephone or the TV.  I enjoyed  seeing that I am stronger than I was a few years ago, not weaker.  I relished having to soak the dirt off my feet a few hours later.  I loved the smell of the damp earth and the weight of the dirt on my shovel.   I enjoyed feeling the work my muscles were doing.

But the best part of the day was standing together at the end and saying, "Ah, we did this."  So yes, dear child, I truly believe that hard work builds character.  And it builds mine as well as yours!


Photo credit: Teresa Harper

Work and Our Natures

Today, I re-read one of my early blog posts, "The Nature of Work." I can't help looking at the synchronicity; I posted that at the very time I realized the full extent of the driven-ness that seemed such an inherent part of my personality. I set out on a course to started to systematically disassemble it. Clearly this dismantling is an ongoing process and yet one in which I can see definite change.

My musings about work back then were the beginnings of that journey; I was coming to the realization the the products of my work are more intangible than I grew up expecting them to be. I have yet to produce the great American novel or a fine painting. I don't have a single invention, patent nor any goods to show. I realized many years ago that I am unlikely to be "famous." Nonetheless, imaginary judges critique every word and action; and somehow I often fall short.

Like many of you, I was brought up by hard-working parents who set a good example of responsibility and productivity. Fair enough. At age 51, however, I think I can hardly blame them for any compunction toward proving myself that lingers on today. I think it is in our natures to make work tower in importance and define us -- but I don't think the fact that's it natural means it has to be that way! Lice are natural too -- but I don't want 'em!

These days, my major occupation is "mama." And yet, I can still quite easily get driven. So it turns out, after all these years, what I have always suspected is actually true -- it's not the job causing me stress, it's me!

I know that what is required is radical truth telling. What life is demanding of me is that I determine what is truly of value and rewrite the code for that scrolling critique that runs my internal Twitter status. I am doing some self-remembering lately. I recommend it!

Here are some things you can do to dismantle the driven-ness in you:

- Several times each day (set an alarm) pause to take a couple of deep breaths and take a look around. Refocus your life to the present.
- Write down the lies you are telling yourself (i.e., "I have to be perfect," "I have to get a promotion"); it's safe to assume that if it starts with "I have to . . ." it bears examining.
- Write down a "being" goal each day; we are all pretty good at making to-do lists, how about a "to be" list?

These things are pulling the plug on the stress for me; I am living that "bright life" more often these days. Let me know how it goes for you!


The very beating of your heart has meaning and purpose.

Your actions have value far greater than silver or gold.

Your life... and what you do with it today...matters forever.
Andy Andrews