Like the Dead Sea
You told me I was like the Dead Sea
You'll never sink when you are with me
Oh Lord, like the Dead Sea
Whoa, I'm like the Dead Sea
The finest words you ever said to me
Honey can't you see,
I was born to be, be your Dead Sea
-The Lumineers, Dead Sea
So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation from the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his interests but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus…
-The Apostle Paul, Phillipians 2:1-5
Part 1
Husbands often get a bad rap, don’t they? Sitcoms tend to portray husbands as oafish and selfish, like Homer Simpson or Kevin James. Columbo may very well be the only TV detective EVER with a happy home life (although I HAVE JUST ONE MORE QUESTION FOR YOU: how do we know that his often-talked-about-but-never-seen wife even exists?). Guys who save the world usually are single or divorced—I’m looking at you, John McClane. Romantic comedies are either about getting the guy or how to cope after you’ve got yourself an actual husband. And let’s not get started on real life marriages, where it’s cool to complain or ridicule one’s husband in public, or at the very least, nurse secret frustrations in private. Sometimes it starts to feel like if you aren’t complaining, you’re not being real about how hard it is to be married to the Modern Man.
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| Facebook official. |
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| Just happy. |
I am married to a Modern Man myself, and let me tell you, it has surpassed all my wildest expectations, both in bliss and difficulty. I don’t know about you, but I was pretty prepared for marriage to be difficult—after all, that’s what you’re told from your teens onward. When hormones start fizzing and boys start to look like maybe they don’t have cooties after all, that’s when all the kissing dating goodbye and marriage is no picnic talks begin. But this, coupled with multiple heartfelt viewings of Pride and Prejudice (because Colin Firth) and Little Women (because young Christian Bale) and Star Wars (because Harrison Ford) and Indiana Jones (because Harrison Ford), all amounts to a confusing mental picture of what love and romance and marriage should be. What both Christian and secular cultures can agree on, however, is that marriage is hard. And yet still worth pursuing. We all love a good love story: a friendship, relationship, and commitment that is strong, beautiful, romantic, and unbreakable. And we all know, both from stories and from real life, that love and marriage have to go through hard times, because real life happens to the best (i.e. all) of us.
So while I was prepared for marriage to be hard, I was not prepared for exactly how it would be hard. I knew I was a selfish person, but I really had no idea till after January 22nd, 2011. There were the small and funny and irritating and classic discoveries of “you fold the towels THAT way?” and “why are you making scrambled eggs THAT way?” When we tell other couples this, most of them respond with YES US TOO, which I find to be both hilarious and relieving. Towels and their foldings are a big deal, my friends. As time goes by, however, deep-seated selfish behaviors and attitudes rise to the surface, and I find myself time and time again putting myself first, or even worse, sometimes seeing my husband as the Enemy of my All Important Happiness. Over stupid things, of course, like figuring out the hard way we have to plan our leisure time a little more or trying to decide how much to spend on Christmas presents. It is true that it’s the little things that can have the biggest impact, whether it’s a continuous drop of water on stone or choosing my attitude about THAT thing which is now a BIG thing.
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| Yes, yes, yes! |
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| MARRIAGE IS NO PICNIC, YOU GUYS. |
Lest you think it’s all been a vale of tears and gnashing of teeth, let me assure you that I wasn’t prepared for marriage to be better than all my dreams of what it could be. I am so thankful and aware of the blessing of marrying my best friend, and of reaping the rewards of choosing each other every day. There’s been various learning curves, of course, and seasons of figuring out the kinds of conflict that bombard every married couple. But after nearly six years, we’re still madly in love and ask ourselves frequently how did we get to marry THIS person?
Part 2
This has been a long preamble (and points to you for making it thus far!) to what I really want to say here, and that’s how my husband, whom I regard as the Husband of Husbands, is the king of men. While Ben isn’t a perfect man, as he still has morning breath, still doesn’t think MacGyver is the best show of all time, and still doesn’t drink coffee, he is perfect for me. He loves my random brain, my quirky humor, and knows the difference between my polite laugh and my real laugh. I can tell when he’s tired before he does (he gets really literal), and I love the way he thinks through things, and how perceptive he is.
Another thing that makes Ben perfect for me is that he’s taken “in sickness and in health” to the next level. Our entire romantic relationship, from dating to engagement to wedding day to now, has been marked by illness. And while it’s made things crazy, it’s never shaken our anchored romance. When we were dating six years ago, I discovered black mold in my apartment, unleashing a series of very unfortunate events. I’ve always caught colds and flus easily, but all of a sudden, I could not bounce back very quickly. Over the next few years, it started to feel like having the flu all the time—deep body aches and mind-numbing fatigue that didn’t go away with a full night’s sleep.
Three years ago, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a mysterious chronic pain and fatigue condition. Last year, I was diagnosed with IBS (Irritable Bowl Syndrome, which needs no explanation, amiright?) and endometriosis, a reproductive system disorder where the endometrial tissue grows in places it shouldn’t, causing scarring and pain and a host of other issues. These titles, or even badges of honor as I see them in my mind’s eye, carry no weight as to how long and hard and discouraging and confusing my physical journey has been these last six years. And not just for me. But for my husband too.
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| Glorious day. |
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| Finally and at last. |
Ben has all the finest characteristics you’d ever want in a man: protective and kind and caring and intelligent and hilarious and wanting to provide everything in his power for his family and friends. He also has great taste in music and movies, which is key. His first inclinations at the first signs of my illness were, I’m sure, to smash them all with his might and force of willpower. Also, to bring me snacks, hand me the remote, and rub my feet. But mostly to smash my sicknesses for me, and help me back to normal. We’ve put our heads together and have tried so many things, from new doctors to new medication to new exercise routines to elimination diets to quitting jobs. He does everything he can to relieve stress in our lives, by budgeting and paying bills and cleaning all the hard and annoying things (like tubs and toilets) and making sure I see friends and family enough in this season while I’m not working. He even carries me to the bathroom or to the couch when I can’t move. What I’m trying to say is there’s nothing Ben won’t do for me, for my health and comfort. I know that even if I wasn’t mysteriously sick, he would do all these things anyway.
The thing that catches me in my throat, in my heart, is when Ben is visibly upset for me and my illness and what it’s done to us. This doesn’t happen very often, because Ben is a careful steward of his emotions and energy, especially towards me, but when it does, it nearly undoes me. He’s not even upset for himself, and all the trouble this situation makes for him. He’s upset for me, upset by my lost dreams, my lost wellness. All he wants is for me to feel better, to feel whole again. But what Ben has become very good at over the last six years is mourning with those who mourn, and what I’ve discovered that means is to simply be with the one who mourns. To do what we can for those in our lives who are sad and grieving and in pain and when we can’t do anymore, because pain is confusing and often unrelenting no matter our human efforts, to simply be present and ready. And to pray, always pray.
Ben has shown me over the past six years that honest and stubborn prayer is the truest kind of prayer. When he prays, it’s brutally honest and transparent, full of questions and requests and pleas and cries for help. He has never once given up on God and His love and power in our lives, even though we both have offered up angry and confused and muddled prayers time and time again. Because of Ben, I keep praying and asking and hoping and knocking on God’s door. Because Ben has not given up on prayer or Jesus or the hope of healing, I haven’t either. Because Ben has proven himself to be my helper day after day, crisis after crisis, I know that God is real and true. Who else could sustain a marriage marked by chronic illness, a relationship already preloaded with worldly strain and human frailty? Who else could cause and allow a marriage to flourish and grow in spite—or even because of—of mysterious chronic pain?
The thing is, I don’t know why we’re going this particular struggle. I do know that it is pushing our natural pride and independence out of the way. It’s been a study in giving up our pride and know-how, and depending more and more on our good God and our friends and family for help. When I look back at the lovely and difficult and happy and sorrowful six years of being with Ben, I am amazed and overwhelmed at the goodness of God more than anything. To note and thank Him for His provision of a truly wonderful husband, without whom I can’t imagine life itself. To thank Him for this most unusual and deep love story of our own, for always providing help and light and hope even when it seemed like morning would never come.
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| Better together. |
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| We take each other on walks and rest when we (ok, I) need to. |
So here’s to the quiet heroes, the patient warriors, the unsung champions. To the men who stay with their wives when it’s hard, ask how to help, and pass the chocolate. To the men who see their wives as beautiful even on a bad day, with no make-up and hair every which way (and definitely all over the bathroom floor). To the men who show love by fixing things, by bringing flowers from the grocery store, and by going to the outlet mall on the weekends. To the men who treat all women as precious sisters, offering protection and the male perspective if needed. To the men who go to work day in and day out, never thinking twice if it’s worth it to provide for their families. To the men who use their strength for good, their might for helping others. To the men who encourage their wives to follow after God in all the ways He made them, whether at work or at home or in community or in skills and talents. To the men who keep dreaming of big things, and who keep trusting God for provision and help. And most of all, here’s to my Modern Hero, who is the funniest and most handsome champion a wife could marry.
