A Tale From the Dark Side

The anniversary was terrible. I spent all day believing he would buy me flowers or a candy bar. When he left in the morning, we wished each other a happy anniversary. On his way home from work, he called because he was going to vote. We discussed that for about ten minutes, and when he arrived home he was empty handed. When I gave him his anniversary gift, he admitted that he had thought about getting me something, then forgotten. He felt like an idiot. At this point, I agree with him. So in the middle of the night, as I was trying to figure out how to state my situation - to anyone, even my self - without actually voicing the painful events again, I came up with this parable.

Imagine, if you will, that life is a big cold concrete floor. Love is a rug. Each person has a rug, maybe a persian rug, maybe one of those little area rag rugs; everyone's rug is different. We wander around looking for someone for whom we can put down our rug. Of course, in the process, we are looking for someone who has a rug that we like.

Your body, meanwhile, is other parts of what makes up a good marriage - the legs of trust and respect, the stomach of good cooking - or enjoying the same restaurants, the heart of appreciation, the brain of logic, the arms of acceptance. You get the picture.

So, you find someone. You each put down your rug and stand on the other's. Oh, it's so nice to not be standing alone on that cold floor anymore. Of course, you each take care of the rug the other is standing on - vacuum it, cut any frays off, steam clean it every once in a while. And you do all you can not to make it too hard for the other person to keep what is technically their rug in good shape. Don't stand on it with muddy shoes, don't spill red Kool-aid on it. Together, you go through life loving each other and being gentle with each other's love.

Well, last year, my husband pulled his rug out from under me. I crashed to the floor, shattering all trust and respect. Over the next few weeks, I discovered that he had been poised to do this throughout our whole marriage. It seems he was just waiting for me to look down at his hands, so that I would actually see him holding the corners as he yanked them.

Trust and respect do not heal as quickly as physical legs. I am still laying on the cold floor, waiting for someone to help me. My husband stands over me, holding his rug, and I truly believe he wants me to stand on it - he hasn't put it down for someone else - but he does nothing to help me get up. He just stands there and looks at me as I try to get to my feet with two broken legs. Neither of us knows what to do.

I have been to the Great Physician, and he does help sometimes, but then the Devil comes along and smacks my legs with a big stck. And I'm back down, and the pain is just as raw as the day it happened.

I don't have an ending for this parable, because I am living in the middle of it. Boy, I have dropped the "Perfect-Wife" ball all at once, haven't I? Honestly, I have never discussed our situation with anyone but my husband and God. I do not regret that decision, but I am beginning to think that I need to now. Don't worry, you gals won't have to be my pshychiatrists.

So, how do you end a blog like this? "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Hebrews 11:1 If I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, I would not need to trust God. I think I need to stand still and look up. Then I'll quit bumping into the tunnel walls, and God can bring the light to me. I hope that is true.