And NO, it’s not my mom talking. It’s my pastor husband.
This picture is HOW I FEEL after church—like I want to bang my head against the wall because my husband won’t stop talking.
Being married to a relationally gifted man of Christ certainly has its perks.
Everyone is a friend
No party is boring
Often we are the party.
(Unless the party is in a foul mood…then we are the party pooper)
We can go to a mall, Starbucks, restaurant, golf course, etc… and come home with five new best friends.
There are no off-topic conversations. EVERYTHING is up for grabs.
But there is a dark side too.
I rarely leave church without my three kids and I experiencing debilitating hunger pains. It’s usually 2:00pm before we get out of the parking lot.
I’ve heard, “I just have to talk to this one guy” a bazillion times.
There is an unspoken acknowledgement between the kids and I that if Tim forgets something at church and has to “run back in real quick” we will probably wait another 30 minutes with the engine running.
And of course, every conversation is for Jesus, so how can we argue?
I adore my husband but sometimes he drives me bazonkers in the best of ways.
And he looks at me, wide eyed in befuddlement? “Why are you irritated darling? What’s wrong?”
(Because this is HIS normal)
And I want to scream, “Your normal is my crazy!”
But instead I just pray for patience. And every week I suck it up with a weak smile.
And then God gives me this little gift to tell me he hears my heart.
And I finally feel understood. Heard. Affirmed. Validated.
“Yes,” I squeak out through strained vocal chords.
She gives me the look—hands on hip, waving a spatula with a baby on her hip and toddlers whizzing by her feet. “Mom’s aren’t allowed to get sick. You know that right?”
I weakly smile back and nod, gather my wads of snotty Kleenex and sneeze seven times in a row as she boots my coughing, snurfling self out the door so she doesn’t catch my bug.
I get it. I get it. I am a mother of three with a husband and a dog.
My life verse is “Do not grow weary in doing good, for in due season you shall reap if you do not lose heart.
Mom’s can’t get sick because mommies take care of everyone else. But what happens when, despite mommies best intentions, her immune system fails her?
All week as I sniffle, my big kid’s joke I have Ebola. Ha Ha. Very funny.
Then my four year-old cries big gulpy tears after pre-school and comes to me in confusion because the kids at school say it’s the plague.
“Mommy, are we all going to die from Ebola?” my little one inquires.
I reassure her and tell my middle daughter to stop telling her it’s Bible Prophecy.
One week in and my cold/flu takes a turn for the worse. My head hurts so bad my teeth ache and my eyes crust over and seal shut. My fever soars and I can’t move my neck. My voice is gone.
So, on Sunday morning (with pastor hubby gone with a full day at church) my teen son drives me to urgent care. Kyle is gentle and sweet. He helps me get settled, laughs at the mask of shame the nurses’ force on me and takes selfies of the two us to post on Instagram.
The doctor says its bronchitis and a bad sinus infection. He prescribes antibiotics and quarantines me to home and bed for 36 hours. (Yippee! Doctor’s orders!)
My son drives me home, tucks me in bed with hot tea and commands me to rest, picks up my meds, goes grocery shopping, comes home, feeds and walks the dog, babysits both his sisters and makes us all lunch and dinner. He also somehow manages to get his middle sister to do the dishes, set the table, do a few loads of laundry and keep the house quiet for mom.
Seriously?
(My husband can’t do this magic)
That evening, over a dinner of homemade chicken soup and crusty rolls, Tim asks Kyle about his day.
“Well, this mom-sitting thing was real tough. I walked one day in her shoes and I am EXHAUSTED. All I did was work and work it never stopped. Boy mom, you do a lot”
Tim and I looked at each and fell over laughing—and then the kids laughed, because my laugh (without my voice) sounds like a dying animal.
And then we affirmed Kyle and the all kids for taking such good care of mama.
I am so proud of this kid and I honestly feel a sense of relief about aging with him around!
So, maybe moms aren’t allowed to get sick with toddlers in the house or even husbands in the house—because sometimes they are as much work as a kid(not mine of coarse!)
But I’ve learned if you train even one of your rug rats well–to be a nurturing and caring person, YOU can get sick when they turn 16!
They say women are complicated. And I agree—wholeheartedly—but I don’t think men are as simple as some suggest.
It’s not just sex, food and more sex that makes a man tick.
There’s something else I can’t put my finger on. All I know is that I don’t know what it is.
But it’s there—the man thing.
On Sunday, I sit in the back of a pre-marital class my husband runs waiting with the kids for him to wrap up so we can go to lunch.
Tim is moderating a talk on personality differences.
The speaker is Dr. Edward Mendez (my favorite counselor) but I wasn’t paying attention because I’ve heard this talk many times by now. (Sorry Buddy)
But then, Dr. Mendez speaks words I haven’t heard before.
“One of the most thrilling things I’ve ever heard from my wife other than “let’s get it on” is “I study you.”
What?
I stopped and held my breath. What does that mean?
“I study you…”
This is what excites a man?
To be studied?
For Dr. Mendez, this means his wife spends time trying to understand him–to know him, to research and delve deeply into his emotions and heart.
She cares enough to go the extra mile and understand his personality and what makes him tick.
Oh noooo…I think. This is way harder than sex and cooking.
I’m not so good at this part.
I’ve got some issues here.
My dad was, at times, a very difficult man to get along with as I grew up. And although he changed into a gentle guy at the end of his life, in the early years his explosive anger often shut me down into a turtle shell of self-protection.
And sadly, old wounds linger and seep into adulthood.
Sometimes, when my defense goes up, I retreat. I stop trying to know my husband and understand him. I hide in my turtle shell and refuse to come out.
And honestly (God forgive me) I don’t always believe the best about my man.
The next day Tim and I work on a project together. Its three days past deadline, but with our busy schedule and Homecoming high school drama we were left overwrought and without ANY margin this weekend. Finally we sit down and address it.
Tim was tense—short even—and snippy with me.
I am light-hearted for about an hour. Then I get weary of being nice to a grump.
And Everything in me wants to power up and launch back surly for surly.
But then I think about Dr. Mendez’s words and instead of moving to the defense, I carefully measure my words and watch him.
I stay neutral. I don’t retreat or engage. I study him like a history book.
Once we hit send on the project, a huge smile crosses over his face.
“Ahhh babe, Now I can relax and be with you,” Tim sighs.
His countenance changes—storm clouds to sunshine—and he picks up my hand and squeezes it.
And I realize his terse behavior isn’t about me at all—it’s about the task at hand.
Holy cow!!! I learn something new about this man.
What you see with Tim (his behavior) is not necessarily what’s going on under the surface.
This is super ironic because I’m tumultuous inside and calm as a cucumber on the outside.
We are polar opposites when it comes to expressing emotion.
It would be easy for me to write off my husband off as over-reactive (and honestly, easy for him to dismiss me as a non-emotive ice cube.)
But when I take the time to study him–to look closer and read his cues, I see another story.
I see a different personality than mine, certainly, but a man with good motives who loves and cherishes me but operates very differently.
It’s evening now. I lay beneath his feet by the sofa, reclining back. Tim plays with my hair for a solid hour as we watch the Patriots get whooped on by the Chiefs.
And despite the fact our fantasy football team (the amazing Ladera Lambyasoures) is losing because the Patriots defense is a bust, I purr like a happy kitten as Tim speaks my love language of affection.
This studying thing was a good investment because I’m pretty sure if I had been bitchy back, I wouldn’t have gotten the princess treatment later.
Maybe men are not so complicated.
Maybe all my man needs is sex, good food, more sex and a woman who truly seeks to KNOW him.
If only I could get this right more often!
Thanks Dr. Mendez…
–Samantha
How do you study your spouse or significant other?
