Marital Perception

Weddings, marriages, vows, ’til death do us part’ has left a sour taste in my mouth. Promises to God first, one another second, seems to be some sort of fairy tale our grandparents and their parents told through black and white grainy photos–smiles beaming under fedoras and church furs. The spouse caring for the other beyond their own selfish needs and wants seems to be nothing more than a bedtime story told to children in shapes of handsome Princes doting on beautiful Princesses–super heroes saving the world for more than just humanity, but for love. Marriage, vows, ‘to honor and obey’ left me feeling cold and bitter….until….

If I may be honest, I hate weddings. I always have. The whole ceremony seems for the benefit of others. The celebration is more about the guests than the people making the commitment. Her dress, the cake, his men, her girls….it seems to be a show. I have been to several and participated in a couple (both of which have ended in divorce…not sure how to feel about that) and it all feels the same. An expensive show with little real thought about the next 364 days.

This past weekend I made the trek to attend a wedding. It wasn’t just any wedding, though. My brother was getting married. No matter how much I abhor weddings, I was not going to miss this one. I sat in a garden chair trying to ignore The He as he walked down the isle and stood beside the other groomsmen stealing glances in my direction. I watched the beautiful bride with her fiery red curls make her way up to her groom, both all smiles. My mother leaned over and whispered how she had never seen a bride so happy and suddenly bitter became nothing short of amazement.

She was one of the happiest brides I had ever seen, too. He was one of the surest grooms I had ever seen. There was no nervousness, no sweaty, clammy, thick tongued exchanges. No one else was there–just him, just her, just God. It got me wondering if I was wrong for feeling so angry…so bitter. I watched them through out the evening and saw how insanely ready they were to just….be. Be together. Be one. Be under God. Be forever. Can love be that? Can marriage, vows, ‘to have and to hold’ be that? It scares me to say I want that so I won’t, but my perspective on it has certainly been clouded a bit more.


His Girl

I’m his girl. No, not in the girlfriend sorta way (that would be both disgusting and illegal), but in a I-will-never-be-far-from-his-heart kinda way. It is a scary thought–to think of yourself as a permanent fixture in someone’s heart. What if you break it? What if you make an irreversible mistake? What if you just simply don’t do the job right? What happens then? Am I still his girl then?

I noticed it one September evening as he stood on first base. I have seen him do it so many times I just forgot to notice. He picks me out of the crowd. No matter how large the crowd, no matter how far away I may be–he finds me. He sees me. There is a silent communication, once he finds me. Sometimes its a thumbs up on my part or a nod on his. Sometimes it is a roll of the eyes or a shrug of the shoulders, but no matter what–he sees me. I am his girl.

He stood on first base during an easy game. The kind of game where the coaches didn’t really say much to the boys, they just let them do what they came dressed to do. He stood there, his back to second, hands on hips and winked. He has been doing it for so long it never registered until just then. I had had a long, odd day of stress, sadness brushing the edges, and at that moment it all got lost. I was the only one that mattered for a split second and he saw me.

It occurred to me, right then, he would always see me even when he wouldn’t. He would begin to see his girlfriend or his wife or his daughter or his son vs. me and, one day, I will no longer occupy a seat in Life but in Heaven instead–yet I would always be a permanent fixture. I am his girl.

That is a huge job to carry out–the protection of the heart. It is a delicate affair of knowing which threads to cut and which to leave untouched…when to walk away and when to stand guard. On the way home from the game, as we talked girls and teenage relationships, he put his hand on my shoulder and thoughtfully said “My girl has to be just like you, Mommy.” He paused, I smiled unsure of what to say beyond ‘okay’, and then “…only….prettier.” I guess that says it all, doesn’t it?  😛


Freestyle Friday: Absolve Elsewhere


Nope. No. No sir. You don’t get to absolve your stuff here. You don’t get to clear your conscience with me. You don’t get to say sorry and expect absolution. I am not the judge. I am not the jury. I am a by-stander who just happened to get hurt standing in the crowd. I do not get a say in your heavy hearted matters, and to be quite honest I don’t want a say.

Silly me, standing too close. I should have stepped away. But instead I stood looking on thinking it would not be me…Silly silly girl. But that doesn’t mean you get to apologize. Your words are thin and easy to tear. They are transparent and dangerous. That’s the most lethal thing you know….that which can be seen.

They make you believe it’s the monsters in the dark that will get you, but it’s all lies and fairy tales. What gets you isn’t the bump in the night but the thing in broad day light. It’s safer that way, for the thing that is…to get you when you can see it plain as day. It doesn’t have to creep up or devise a plan, it can just do it’s damage and point blaming fingers because…well…you saw it coming, right?

Nope. No. No sir. You don’t get to drop your guilt off here. This isn’t a Safe Place. This plate is full enough already. You don’t get to dip your soiled rags in my already muddied water, trying to cleanse yourself. You don’t get to ask questions or make comments. You don’t get rights to my happiness or my friendship.

Nope. No sir. Absolve yourself elsewhere…not in my lap.