She was a warrior. She faced illness and pain and surgery and treatments and hair loss and wickedly harsh medicine with optimism, hope and joy. She found no pleasure in the attention that was necessary for her care. She would have much preferred to be the servant, not the served. Sunday morning she suffered a massive stroke. Tuesday evening, after her family mercifully withdrew life support, she officially passed away. When I visited her in that CCU room with machines keeping her "alive," I sensed that she had already left this phase of her eternal journey, and that she was whole and healthy again.
I am no theologian. I do not pretend to know when souls leave bodies. I do not know where they go from here. I only know that her indomitable spirit was not present in the body, so familiar, lying in that bed. Forgive me when I scoff, too, at the notion that she was hovering above, out of body, watching the proceedings going on in that room. That would have been a punishment too hard to bear...watching the unspeakable grief and pain of her child, her husband, her siblings, her friends, and others who dearly loved her.
She was my cousin. We grew up together on Saturdays at my grandmother's. We played Rock School, 1 2 3 Redlight, Mother May I, Fruit Basket Turnover, and Poor Kitty. We made inedible goulash from Dutch Cleanser and other chemicals. We ate thimble biscuits that looked like little dirty toes. We learned our colors from a Tiffany chandelier made of stained glass fruit. We learned math skills from flash cards stuck on the kitchen wall. We perused the Lone Ranger scrapbook over and over. We played house outside. We played school inside. We shared ambrosia; she ate the coconut and I age the oranges. We walked to the store and spent our dimes on candy, always wondering how her twin brother ended up with more candy than we. It took a while, but we learned that he always got an extra nickle because he was the only boy. We swang on the porch swing. As we got older, we discussed the facts of life, and let me say, for the longest time we truly did not have our "facts" straight.
As we grew, we lost touch with one another except through our parents. I married very young. She married later. I had children fairly early. Her daughter came to her a bit later. Our lives just became a bit different. I do not remember exactly when our separate paths merged again. I remember walking with her as she started the adoption process of her precious Sarah. Maybe that was it. I just do not remember for, truly, she has always been part of me.
Twelve years ago, we spent two weeks together in Boston. She was beginning the first stage of a stem cell transplant. In her mind, I wore the title "caretaker," but in truth, we took care of each other. It was a bonding time for cousins reunited. She attacked that process with the faith of a child. It was the beginning of a raging battle that she fought for all those years. She embraced with relish the respites she found from the fight. She was blessed with a childlike wonder at the world. She had a childlike love for everyone around her, and as a result she was greatly loved herself.
There is a big difference between childlike and childish. She had not a childish bone in her body. She did not complain. She did not pout. She did not rail against God. She did not give up. She did not cave in. She put her make up on. She fixed her hair. She smiled. She inquired as to the well-being of you and your family. She fought valiantly. She has won her victory.
Martha Binkley Hains, forever known as A'chie to her family, will be greatly missed. Her departure from this phase of our eternal journey leaves us grieved. We would have loved to have been able to travel together a while longer, but it was not to be. We must take time to mourn our loss, but we will not honor her if we stay mired in our sadness.
So for today, I wish you sweet memories, people to love and inspire you, and I wish you
blessings
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Surely, I Did Not Just Do That
I put my checkbook in my purse yesterday. Actually, my purse is really a wallet on a string. It is not designed to hold a checkbook and a cell phone, so as I walk through tall wet grass at a yard sale, I discover that my phone is missing. MP walks back to the car to get her phone to call me. My ring is birds chirping. We are outside on a fall morning. Birds are chirping. Fortunately, MP's specific ring has chimes along with birds, and so with relative ease, I find my phone. In an effort to not lose it again, I put it in my purse and transfer my checkbook to the back pocket of my jeans. This later proves to be an unwise decision.
After the yard sale, MP and I head to Lowe's. After drinking my usual morning beverage, a large Diet Coke, I find that my first stop at the store needs to be the restroom. That taken care of, I wander around the store to find MP who is looking for some cabinet knobs. I am on a somewhat less reasonable quest for large eye screws and six foot pieces of rebar. I explain my hairbrained scheme, and ask MP if she could see any reason it will not work. Her reply is, " it makes sense to me, but I imagine there will come a time when you find out why it won't work." That is pretty much what I thought, but still I persist in my plans. I leave Lowe's with four eye screws and no rebar because it will not fit in MP's car. We head home, where I have big plans to do some painting, window washing, and some other equally fun activities.
As I am painting, my phone rings. The conversation goes somewhat like this:
Me: "Hello?" (Sometimes, I must answer the phone in a childlike voice for earlier in the week someone asked if they could speak to my mother).
Lady on phone whose name I learn is Martha: "uhmmmmmm, is this a Marilyn Switzer?"
Me: "yes."
Martha: "This may be a weird question, but were you in the bathroom at Lowe's Hardware today?"
Me: "Did you say Lowe's?"
Martha: "Yes, ma'am."
Me: "Yes, I was at Lowe's."
Martha: "Oh, well I found your checkbook in one of the toilets. I have it. I thought about flushing it, but I thought it would stop up the toilet, and so I got it out. It is pretty wet. I figured you might need it."
I am extremely impressed with someone who would fish a checkbook out of a toilet in a store that has two aisles filled with plumbing supplies.
Me: "Oh, it must have fallen out of my back pocket." Good grief. I really need to get a real purse.
Martha: "What would you like for me to do with it."
Me: "There are not many checks in that book, so if you would just tear them up and throw them away, that would be great, and thank you so much. You are very kind."
Martha: "Well, I know how I feel when I lose my debit card or checks, I've never dropped them in the toilet, but, you just never know what somebody might do with them."
I am thinking what most people would do is flush them, and I refrain from regaling Martha with the many times I have dropped either my checkbook, my purse, my keys, my nametag at church (hard to deny that one), and various other things into toilets around town, but I do not want to scare her.
Me: "Martha, you are truly a Good Samaritan (I guess literally she is a Good Nashvillian). I hope you have a wonderful day."
Martha: (laughing) "I hope you do too."
Back to my painting. About an hour later, the phone rings. Imagine my surprise when I learn that it is Martha again. She is apologizing for bothering me. I assure her that she is not.
Martha: "Well, I noticed on the back of your checkbook some numbers written. I thought you might need them."
Me: "What kind of numbers?" I am wondering if I have written a credit card number on the book of checks. I really have no idea.
Martha: "They look like phone numbers. One has CL written by it and one has SCH. I don't know what that means, but I was worried that you might need them."
I think for a moment, and then it dawns on me that Mr. Lincoln had written those phone numbers on the first piece of paper he could find, the checkbook, and they belonged to a teacher who wants to book a tour. Hmmmmmmmmmmm, I should have called her by now. Wonder why she doesn't reply to my emails instead of wanting to talk on the phone. Well, I do like to get caught up with her and her family each year.....a tap on my wandering mind, and I come back to Martha. "Oh, yes, Martha, I do need those numbers. You are the nicest person. Thank you so much."
Martha and I hang up, and I return to my painting. Painting is a solitary activity, and so the mind wanders....I wonder why Martha still had my checkbook....is she drying it out to use the checks....no, someone who fishes a checkbook out of a public toilet would not do that....a desperate person might...Mr. Lincoln is not going to be happy about this IF he ever finds out....oh, he won't really care, but maybe I should call Martha back and ask her the numbers on the checks, just in case this turns out like that fender bender...Mr. Lindoln really was not happy when I did not call the police after being rear-ended by a lovely young man in a company truck who begged me not to call the authorities because his boss would be really mad...yep, funny how "boss" was code for "the man who owns the business and from whom I stole this truck".....yeah, I better call Martha and get those check numbers... how will I get her number, not having caller ID...oh, I'll dial *69...that will work.
The phone is ringing. Martha answers. I begin apologizing for bothering her. She says she was worried that she had upset me with the second call. I am thinking what must I have sounded like to cause her to worry about my being upset with her...I really must work on my phone etiquette, how do I ask her for the check numbers without her feeling like I don't trust her, I know I'll blame it on Mr. Lincoln, he won't care...so I ask her for the numbers explaining that my husband, the attorney, will be much happier if he knows that I know what the numbers were on the checks that were flushed. She is very understanding. I thank her over and over. We bid each other fond farewells. I go back to my painting, and decide that perhaps I just will not leave the house again.
So for today I wish you a Martha guardian angel to look after you when you do stupid things, and I wish you
blessings
After the yard sale, MP and I head to Lowe's. After drinking my usual morning beverage, a large Diet Coke, I find that my first stop at the store needs to be the restroom. That taken care of, I wander around the store to find MP who is looking for some cabinet knobs. I am on a somewhat less reasonable quest for large eye screws and six foot pieces of rebar. I explain my hairbrained scheme, and ask MP if she could see any reason it will not work. Her reply is, " it makes sense to me, but I imagine there will come a time when you find out why it won't work." That is pretty much what I thought, but still I persist in my plans. I leave Lowe's with four eye screws and no rebar because it will not fit in MP's car. We head home, where I have big plans to do some painting, window washing, and some other equally fun activities.
As I am painting, my phone rings. The conversation goes somewhat like this:
Me: "Hello?" (Sometimes, I must answer the phone in a childlike voice for earlier in the week someone asked if they could speak to my mother).
Lady on phone whose name I learn is Martha: "uhmmmmmm, is this a Marilyn Switzer?"
Me: "yes."
Martha: "This may be a weird question, but were you in the bathroom at Lowe's Hardware today?"
Me: "Did you say Lowe's?"
Martha: "Yes, ma'am."
Me: "Yes, I was at Lowe's."
Martha: "Oh, well I found your checkbook in one of the toilets. I have it. I thought about flushing it, but I thought it would stop up the toilet, and so I got it out. It is pretty wet. I figured you might need it."
I am extremely impressed with someone who would fish a checkbook out of a toilet in a store that has two aisles filled with plumbing supplies.
Me: "Oh, it must have fallen out of my back pocket." Good grief. I really need to get a real purse.
Martha: "What would you like for me to do with it."
Me: "There are not many checks in that book, so if you would just tear them up and throw them away, that would be great, and thank you so much. You are very kind."
Martha: "Well, I know how I feel when I lose my debit card or checks, I've never dropped them in the toilet, but, you just never know what somebody might do with them."
I am thinking what most people would do is flush them, and I refrain from regaling Martha with the many times I have dropped either my checkbook, my purse, my keys, my nametag at church (hard to deny that one), and various other things into toilets around town, but I do not want to scare her.
Me: "Martha, you are truly a Good Samaritan (I guess literally she is a Good Nashvillian). I hope you have a wonderful day."
Martha: (laughing) "I hope you do too."
Back to my painting. About an hour later, the phone rings. Imagine my surprise when I learn that it is Martha again. She is apologizing for bothering me. I assure her that she is not.
Martha: "Well, I noticed on the back of your checkbook some numbers written. I thought you might need them."
Me: "What kind of numbers?" I am wondering if I have written a credit card number on the book of checks. I really have no idea.
Martha: "They look like phone numbers. One has CL written by it and one has SCH. I don't know what that means, but I was worried that you might need them."
I think for a moment, and then it dawns on me that Mr. Lincoln had written those phone numbers on the first piece of paper he could find, the checkbook, and they belonged to a teacher who wants to book a tour. Hmmmmmmmmmmm, I should have called her by now. Wonder why she doesn't reply to my emails instead of wanting to talk on the phone. Well, I do like to get caught up with her and her family each year.....a tap on my wandering mind, and I come back to Martha. "Oh, yes, Martha, I do need those numbers. You are the nicest person. Thank you so much."
Martha and I hang up, and I return to my painting. Painting is a solitary activity, and so the mind wanders....I wonder why Martha still had my checkbook....is she drying it out to use the checks....no, someone who fishes a checkbook out of a public toilet would not do that....a desperate person might...Mr. Lincoln is not going to be happy about this IF he ever finds out....oh, he won't really care, but maybe I should call Martha back and ask her the numbers on the checks, just in case this turns out like that fender bender...Mr. Lindoln really was not happy when I did not call the police after being rear-ended by a lovely young man in a company truck who begged me not to call the authorities because his boss would be really mad...yep, funny how "boss" was code for "the man who owns the business and from whom I stole this truck".....yeah, I better call Martha and get those check numbers... how will I get her number, not having caller ID...oh, I'll dial *69...that will work.
The phone is ringing. Martha answers. I begin apologizing for bothering her. She says she was worried that she had upset me with the second call. I am thinking what must I have sounded like to cause her to worry about my being upset with her...I really must work on my phone etiquette, how do I ask her for the check numbers without her feeling like I don't trust her, I know I'll blame it on Mr. Lincoln, he won't care...so I ask her for the numbers explaining that my husband, the attorney, will be much happier if he knows that I know what the numbers were on the checks that were flushed. She is very understanding. I thank her over and over. We bid each other fond farewells. I go back to my painting, and decide that perhaps I just will not leave the house again.
So for today I wish you a Martha guardian angel to look after you when you do stupid things, and I wish you
blessings
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Fragile, Handle with Care
This has been a hard week in some ways. Several friends have lost loved ones. Some of those deaths were sudden; some were at the end of a lengthy battle. It is sad to lose members of the previous generation in a family, no matter their age or health struggles. We miss them. Rarely, do I believe we have learned all that we might before they are gone.
I learned this week of a young mother, expecting a baby this fall. It is anticipated that the baby will live only a short while due to a chromosomal abnormality. It breaks my heart for everyone involved. I do not know this expectant mother, but I do know those who know her well. She and her husband have God-breathed strength, and I know they will survive this, but not before they experience great depths of sadness.
A friend suffered an aortic rupture Sunday night. One moment he was fine, and the next he was fighting for his life. Thanks to quick responses and excellent medical care, he is alive, and beginning the long journey of recovery.
Life is so fragile.
I love history. I do not particularly care for dates and battle strategies, but I love the personal stories. I love the reminders that there is nothing new under the sun. We do not suffer anything that has not been suffered time and time again. That is why I love stories of the past. They are reminders to me about the fragile nature of life on this earth. I visit old houses and hear stories of families who lived and worked and loved and died there, and I know they had the same hurts and joys and losses that I have.
They say we are all 3 or 4 generations from being totally forgotten. In some ways that is very troubling, but in other ways it is very comforting. I visit old cemeteries, and unless the person honored there is famous, all we have left is a stone with a name and dates to remind us that he or she lived. It is a reminder that none of us is indespensible to the running of the planet. When we depart this world the world will not miss a beat. If we are lucky, we will have influenced a handful of people who will care deeply at our departure from their lives, but even so, they will continue to wake up in the morning, laugh, love, sing, work, and enjoy their lives. Praise God for that.
When I walk at Radnor, I am struck by the ancient. Now, Radnor Lake as we know it today is not exactly ancient. If it is, then I am prehistoric, but the feel of the place reminds me that life was here long before I got here, and it will be here long after I leave. I find great comfort in that. When I sit by the Cumberland River I think how that river has been flowing and will continue to flow for generations. I think of families who navigated that river to escape the American Revolution and British oppression. They may have traveled in heavy flatboats with no electricity or other modern conveniences, but they loved their families, and they strove to provide for and protect them just like we all do. It is our common bond; that and the fragility of our lives.
Because life is so fragile, I think it behooves us to handle it with care. The really wise understand that they are not promised one more day; not even one more moment. It seems such a pity to waste our time stressed and complaining and bothered by the things that do not matter. Some people find this easier than others. Some embrace happiness regardless of circumstances. Those people do not let their sense of themselves and their lives be dictated by circumstances. As Abraham Lincoln, among others, said, "we're about as happy as we make up our minds to be." I respect the wisdom of the people I know who squeeze every moment of joy out of every day. And, I say "balderdash" to anyone who says these people are shallow or Pollyannas (meant in a derogatory manner - for I really do love Pollyanna). The joy-grabbers are not unaware of the troubles of this world, they just focus on the good. Actually, I find them to be far more aware than those who spend their lives in a "woe is me" posture.
I am acquainted with others who have adopted the victim mentality, and they see themselves as the victim in their own lives. Everything for them is so much more difficult. Life seems to "happen" to them. They tend to accentuate the negative and minimize the positive. I assume there are about as many different reasons for this mindset as there are people with this mindset. I think it would be a very hard place to be. I have no solution, yet it does seem a foolish place to stay.
Most of us are somewhere in the middle. But for all of us, life is fragile. We only have so many days to spend here. Maybe choosing a posture of joy and gratitude is the best possible way to handle that delicate gift with care.
For today, I wish you an appreciation for the gift of life, I wish you joy, I wish you a sense of gratitude for the gift, and I wish you
blessings
I learned this week of a young mother, expecting a baby this fall. It is anticipated that the baby will live only a short while due to a chromosomal abnormality. It breaks my heart for everyone involved. I do not know this expectant mother, but I do know those who know her well. She and her husband have God-breathed strength, and I know they will survive this, but not before they experience great depths of sadness.
A friend suffered an aortic rupture Sunday night. One moment he was fine, and the next he was fighting for his life. Thanks to quick responses and excellent medical care, he is alive, and beginning the long journey of recovery.
Life is so fragile.
I love history. I do not particularly care for dates and battle strategies, but I love the personal stories. I love the reminders that there is nothing new under the sun. We do not suffer anything that has not been suffered time and time again. That is why I love stories of the past. They are reminders to me about the fragile nature of life on this earth. I visit old houses and hear stories of families who lived and worked and loved and died there, and I know they had the same hurts and joys and losses that I have.
They say we are all 3 or 4 generations from being totally forgotten. In some ways that is very troubling, but in other ways it is very comforting. I visit old cemeteries, and unless the person honored there is famous, all we have left is a stone with a name and dates to remind us that he or she lived. It is a reminder that none of us is indespensible to the running of the planet. When we depart this world the world will not miss a beat. If we are lucky, we will have influenced a handful of people who will care deeply at our departure from their lives, but even so, they will continue to wake up in the morning, laugh, love, sing, work, and enjoy their lives. Praise God for that.
When I walk at Radnor, I am struck by the ancient. Now, Radnor Lake as we know it today is not exactly ancient. If it is, then I am prehistoric, but the feel of the place reminds me that life was here long before I got here, and it will be here long after I leave. I find great comfort in that. When I sit by the Cumberland River I think how that river has been flowing and will continue to flow for generations. I think of families who navigated that river to escape the American Revolution and British oppression. They may have traveled in heavy flatboats with no electricity or other modern conveniences, but they loved their families, and they strove to provide for and protect them just like we all do. It is our common bond; that and the fragility of our lives.
Because life is so fragile, I think it behooves us to handle it with care. The really wise understand that they are not promised one more day; not even one more moment. It seems such a pity to waste our time stressed and complaining and bothered by the things that do not matter. Some people find this easier than others. Some embrace happiness regardless of circumstances. Those people do not let their sense of themselves and their lives be dictated by circumstances. As Abraham Lincoln, among others, said, "we're about as happy as we make up our minds to be." I respect the wisdom of the people I know who squeeze every moment of joy out of every day. And, I say "balderdash" to anyone who says these people are shallow or Pollyannas (meant in a derogatory manner - for I really do love Pollyanna). The joy-grabbers are not unaware of the troubles of this world, they just focus on the good. Actually, I find them to be far more aware than those who spend their lives in a "woe is me" posture.
I am acquainted with others who have adopted the victim mentality, and they see themselves as the victim in their own lives. Everything for them is so much more difficult. Life seems to "happen" to them. They tend to accentuate the negative and minimize the positive. I assume there are about as many different reasons for this mindset as there are people with this mindset. I think it would be a very hard place to be. I have no solution, yet it does seem a foolish place to stay.
Most of us are somewhere in the middle. But for all of us, life is fragile. We only have so many days to spend here. Maybe choosing a posture of joy and gratitude is the best possible way to handle that delicate gift with care.
For today, I wish you an appreciation for the gift of life, I wish you joy, I wish you a sense of gratitude for the gift, and I wish you
blessings
Monday, September 10, 2012
Do You Realize That Was Your Own Nose?
I like to observe people around me. It is easier than having to look too hard at myself. In my observations, I notice how often people "cut off their own noses to spite their faces." You know, hurting yourself to punish someone else. It really makes no sense, and yet, we all do it.
Several years ago, Mr. Lincoln and I taught a marriage class. We had great fun preparing for and teaching that class. We learned a lot. I truly think teaching is the best way to learn. Mr. Lincoln and I had never been to marriage counseling. We had never even read a book on marriage before preparing for this class. We conducted our marriage about like we do everything - hanging by the seat of our pants, and taking most things neither personally nor seriously. I am not saying it is the right way, I'm just saying it has been our way.
In preparing for this class, I discovered some things. I learned that there were certain occasions at which I almost always "cut off my own nose." When we would go to a ballgame or concert, and it was time to head back to the car, I often found myself lost in the crowd, separated from Mr. Lincoln. He is a foot taller than I am, and so he is able to see the gaps in the crowd and hit them. He also has a much longer stride and moves faster. So, I lagged along behind feeling bereft and angry and appalled at my poor choice of such an inconsiderate husband. Of course, I did not tell him how I was feeling. I did not ask him to slow down. I just internally pouted. Should not he have known to wait for me and gently guide me with his hand on the small of my back? The least he could have done as he rapidly walked away was say, "stay alive...I will find you, no matter how long, no matter how far...stay alive!!" (If you don't get the reference, may I suggest a movie - The Last of the Mohicans) How utterly stupid of me.
I do not do that now. I hook my finger in his back belt loop, hang on for dear life, and choose to feel grateful for a husband a foot taller than I who can see the gaps in the crowd, hit them, and drag me through before they close. I feel so much better, and he does not drive us home wondering what is causing that cold breeze of hostility.
I know a wife who feels when she returns home from the grocery loaded down that she should not have to ask her husband for help bringing them into the house. Of course, it would be better if he looked up from ESPN to notice her with six bags of groceries hanging off each arm as she struggles to get in the door. That would be the ideal. But, history has told her that in this particular area he can be quite clueless. What does she do? Yep, just lops her own nose right off. She huffs and puffs and struggles to carry the groceries in an effort to punish him. I asked her once, "what does he do when you ask him to help you?" "Oh, he's happy to help. I just don't think I should have to ask him." Really? Does that make any sense? So, for the lack of asking a question, she stays mad at him all day for not helping her? I figure, like me, she deserves to be mad and upset. We bring it on ourselves.
Once I was talking to a friend whose husband has a tendency to "forget" things that are not all that important to him. They had an appointment to meet with someone. She made the appointment. He did not really want to go. When she adamantly told me that under no circumstance would she call him to remind him, I had a visual of her chopping off her nose. It seemed the end goal was for them to make this appointment together. By not reminding him, she was setting him up, and she was searching for, yet another, reason to be mad at him. Frankly, I think he was oblivious. His nose was intact. Hers was gone. I mean, that is like not reminding your husband of your anniversary or birthday because "he should remember," and being mad at him when he forgets. Me, I would rather get the gift. I'm just saying.
Living with someone who has confidence in his or her ability to make decisions and to accomplish tasks is a blessing. Living with someone who is always second-guessing you and themselves can be very tiring. I have watched relationships where one spouse is timid and so cautious about making decisions that they are very nearly paralyzed. Often the very same person who has no idea what they should do has a plethora of suggestions for others. It is a constant internal battle, and I imagine it can be quite a difficult thing with which to live for those on either side. Watching the confident member of the relationship refuse to compliment and truly encourage the other because "they should be able to do that for themselves," is like watching a nose-ectomy. I figure everybody wins when someone is encouraged to trust themselves. In my life I have learned that lectures, unsolicited advice, condemnations and such are far less effective than a word of praise or encouragement. Oh, I can still get wound up in a good what-you-need-to-do lecture, but for all the results of that, I might as well cut off my own nose.
Have you ever known someone who will not do what they really want to do because their husband or wife acts less than enthused? I am not talking about important decisions on how to spend large sums of money or how to raise the children or how to grow in faith. I am just talking about little things, like going somewhere, or eating something, or buying some small something. Frankly, I do not need Mr. Lincoln's enthusiasm to do something I want to do. It is nice, but I do not need it, nor does he need mine. Neither of us is about to lose a nose in an effort to punish the other. It just does not make sense. Do what you want to do if there is nothing wrong with it and no one will be harmed, and if someone chooses to be upset with you over it, let them deal with their own upset.
Well, there you have it, for what it is worth which if probably not much. But, that is the beauty of a blog. I can write it, and you do not have to read it.
For today, I wish your nose to remain well-placed, and I wish you
blessings
Several years ago, Mr. Lincoln and I taught a marriage class. We had great fun preparing for and teaching that class. We learned a lot. I truly think teaching is the best way to learn. Mr. Lincoln and I had never been to marriage counseling. We had never even read a book on marriage before preparing for this class. We conducted our marriage about like we do everything - hanging by the seat of our pants, and taking most things neither personally nor seriously. I am not saying it is the right way, I'm just saying it has been our way.
In preparing for this class, I discovered some things. I learned that there were certain occasions at which I almost always "cut off my own nose." When we would go to a ballgame or concert, and it was time to head back to the car, I often found myself lost in the crowd, separated from Mr. Lincoln. He is a foot taller than I am, and so he is able to see the gaps in the crowd and hit them. He also has a much longer stride and moves faster. So, I lagged along behind feeling bereft and angry and appalled at my poor choice of such an inconsiderate husband. Of course, I did not tell him how I was feeling. I did not ask him to slow down. I just internally pouted. Should not he have known to wait for me and gently guide me with his hand on the small of my back? The least he could have done as he rapidly walked away was say, "stay alive...I will find you, no matter how long, no matter how far...stay alive!!" (If you don't get the reference, may I suggest a movie - The Last of the Mohicans) How utterly stupid of me.
I do not do that now. I hook my finger in his back belt loop, hang on for dear life, and choose to feel grateful for a husband a foot taller than I who can see the gaps in the crowd, hit them, and drag me through before they close. I feel so much better, and he does not drive us home wondering what is causing that cold breeze of hostility.
I know a wife who feels when she returns home from the grocery loaded down that she should not have to ask her husband for help bringing them into the house. Of course, it would be better if he looked up from ESPN to notice her with six bags of groceries hanging off each arm as she struggles to get in the door. That would be the ideal. But, history has told her that in this particular area he can be quite clueless. What does she do? Yep, just lops her own nose right off. She huffs and puffs and struggles to carry the groceries in an effort to punish him. I asked her once, "what does he do when you ask him to help you?" "Oh, he's happy to help. I just don't think I should have to ask him." Really? Does that make any sense? So, for the lack of asking a question, she stays mad at him all day for not helping her? I figure, like me, she deserves to be mad and upset. We bring it on ourselves.
Once I was talking to a friend whose husband has a tendency to "forget" things that are not all that important to him. They had an appointment to meet with someone. She made the appointment. He did not really want to go. When she adamantly told me that under no circumstance would she call him to remind him, I had a visual of her chopping off her nose. It seemed the end goal was for them to make this appointment together. By not reminding him, she was setting him up, and she was searching for, yet another, reason to be mad at him. Frankly, I think he was oblivious. His nose was intact. Hers was gone. I mean, that is like not reminding your husband of your anniversary or birthday because "he should remember," and being mad at him when he forgets. Me, I would rather get the gift. I'm just saying.
Living with someone who has confidence in his or her ability to make decisions and to accomplish tasks is a blessing. Living with someone who is always second-guessing you and themselves can be very tiring. I have watched relationships where one spouse is timid and so cautious about making decisions that they are very nearly paralyzed. Often the very same person who has no idea what they should do has a plethora of suggestions for others. It is a constant internal battle, and I imagine it can be quite a difficult thing with which to live for those on either side. Watching the confident member of the relationship refuse to compliment and truly encourage the other because "they should be able to do that for themselves," is like watching a nose-ectomy. I figure everybody wins when someone is encouraged to trust themselves. In my life I have learned that lectures, unsolicited advice, condemnations and such are far less effective than a word of praise or encouragement. Oh, I can still get wound up in a good what-you-need-to-do lecture, but for all the results of that, I might as well cut off my own nose.
Have you ever known someone who will not do what they really want to do because their husband or wife acts less than enthused? I am not talking about important decisions on how to spend large sums of money or how to raise the children or how to grow in faith. I am just talking about little things, like going somewhere, or eating something, or buying some small something. Frankly, I do not need Mr. Lincoln's enthusiasm to do something I want to do. It is nice, but I do not need it, nor does he need mine. Neither of us is about to lose a nose in an effort to punish the other. It just does not make sense. Do what you want to do if there is nothing wrong with it and no one will be harmed, and if someone chooses to be upset with you over it, let them deal with their own upset.
Well, there you have it, for what it is worth which if probably not much. But, that is the beauty of a blog. I can write it, and you do not have to read it.
For today, I wish your nose to remain well-placed, and I wish you
blessings
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