Risking Blasphemy

I am exasperated. Sydney and Savannah won't cooperate with me, let alone each other. It's bedtime and Brenda and I are trying to get them to clean the playroom before they go, but they're stalling and using this as an opportunity to put off both cleaning AND going to bed. I give up and say, "Alright. We're done. Put down the toys and let's go to bed right now." I'm not yelling with my volume, this time, but I certainly am yelling with my tone. They relent with very little push-back and march up the stairs to get ready.

"Will you read us a story?" Savannah asks on the way up the stairs. "No I will not," I snap. "But why?" comes her plea. "Because stories are a privilege for little girls who play nice with each other and listen to their mommies and daddies," I exhume tersely.

Both girls finish brushing thier teeth and climb into bed. I've had time to calm down in the interim. As soon as I turn out the light, to seal the deal on this bedtime routine, Savannah asks to break protocol and go potty. Of course. "Yes, but hurry. It's sleeping time."

Now, Savannah is 3 years old and history suggests that I shouldn't trust her to finish quickly, turn off the light, and get back in bed of her own accord. All that to say, I have 3 - 5 minutes to spare while I wait.

I approach Sydney's bed and kneel down beside it. Our faces are close and I can see her giant brown eyes despite the darkness. "Can I ask you some questions?"  I say in a somber voice.

"Yes," she squeaks.

"How does your heart feel?" I whisper.

She takes her eyes off me and answers, "It feels sad."

"Why?" I venture, as if I don't already know the answer.

She can't help but make eye contact with me again before she delivers, "Because you yelled at me."

"I don't like yelling at you," I respond softly, my eyes adjusting to the dark so I can see her more clearly. I notice that she looks concerned at my answer.

"Why not, Daddy? ... Is it because you don't like sad hearts?" I can't help but smile at her logic, and I confirm her suspicions, "Yes, I don't like sad hearts." But then I add with seriousness, "Especially yours."

She is smiling now. She liked that answer and she is aware that she has my full attention. Plus, I think she saw me smile.

"Would you like to pray with me?" I ask.

"Sure."

"Dear God, please help me and Sydney have happy hearts, not sad ones. And please help us be good listeners and not be people who yell at the ones we love. In Jesus' name, amen."

Savannah makes her way back into her bed on the other side of the room. She doesn't speak but I can feel her watching our outlined forms in the dark.

"Daddy, can I ask you a question?" Sydney interjects, before I have a chance to get up from my knees.

"Sure, honey," I reply.

"How does your heart feel?"

That ruckus you hear is the sound of tables turning. I think for a moment and then with a resolute quietness in my voice I breath, "It feels thankful." She plays right into my hands when she asks me, "Why?"

"Well, because it's glad you're my little girl," I respond. I don't say it out loud, but I'm also feeling thankful for the opportunity to affirm her one more time before the day ends.

"Can I pray Daddy?" Oh, I didn't see that one coming. But maybe I should have. I see now that she is following my pattern of questions.

"Of course you can, Syd. Always."

"God, thank you for listening to my Daddy and obeying him to make his prayer come true. Aaaamen."

"Amen" I whisper, risking blasphemy.

A kiss. A hug. And a move to the next bed. Savannah is laying there expectantly. She's wearing a one-piece sleeper, the kind with a zipper the length of the Orient Express, and she's laying on her hands which are tucked behind her back.

"Savannah, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes!" She blurts out with 1000 smiles.

"How does your heart feel?"

Still grinning from ear to ear, her hands wiggling behind her, "It feels thankful."

Ah, we have a copy cat. "Why does it feel thankful?" I'm half hoping for something akin to "Because you're my Daddy!" but instead I'm greeted with, "Because you let me go potty!"

Before I can begin the appreciate her comedic timing, she continues, "I'm going to pray. Dear-God-thank-your-for-this-food-and-thank-you-for-making-the-whole-world-in-jeezname-amen."

"Amen."

How Can I Save My Marriage? Part 3

This is part 3 in a multi-part series that starts here.

When I imagine divorce I see in my mind a common person balancing in the center of tightrope. They balance precariously, looking from one platform to the other, wondering which journey to make, the one towards marriage, or the one towards divorce. It is safe to assume that both routes carry risk and associated dangers and now that I think about it, neither platform is really, truly "in sight". There is a haze masking them from view.

It takes great determination for this person to stay still and maintain balance in the middle of the rope, let alone move in a direction. So there they stay, legs wobbling, airplane-arms outstretched, physically and mentally paralyzed.

How does a person in such a predicament move in any direction, let alone the one towards marriage? By process of elimination. A judgement call must be made here. One of these two paths must be the better, and therefore the other must be the worse.

If you want to save your marriage you must first believe something very unpopular and counter-cultural about divorce.

3. Believe That Divorce Is Worse

Marriages die. They don't dissolve or evaporate or otherwise disappear without a trace. They die and they leave their rotting, stinking carcass for all to see. We try to mitigate the smell with aerosol cans full of sympathetic eyes and listening ears and affirming nods but the stains are still there, plain as day, long after the haze of benign advice has evaporated without leaving streaks.

One of the noteworthy things about death is that loved ones closest to the deceased are changed forever. If you are a child of divorce, or if you are married to one, then you know this is true. There will be fallout and it will ricochet through lives like a pinball thrust down a chute and slammed mercilessly around a machine.

Again I refer to C.S. Lewis:

Christianity teaches that marriage is for life. There is, of course, a difference here between different Churches ... [but] they all regard divorce as something like cutting up a living body, as a kind of surgical operation. Some of them think the operation so violent that it cannot be done at all; others admit it as a desperate remedy in extreme cases. They are all agreed that it is more like having both your legs cut off than it is like dissolving a business partnership or even deserting a regiment. What they all disagree with is the modern view that it is a simple readjustment of partners, to be made whenever people feel they are no longer in love with one another, or when either of them falls in love with someone else.

I think most married couples fool themselves in the end. They "legally separate" and find a comfortable routine with less fighting and more harmony. First they think to themselves, "This isn't so bad." And that leads to, "It will probably look like this after the divorce, too." Those thoughts are reenforced with "Surely this is better than the hurtful words and fighting and tears before we separated!"

The fallacy here, I believe, is ignoring the reality that when you divorce you trade in one set of problems for another, while still retaining key behaviors that contributed to the divorce in the first place. And lets be realistic here, you really are gambling about which set of problems are worse. It is easy and foolish to assume that problems will be removed and that is all. It takes almost no effort to overlook the reality that divorce is not a removal at all, but actually, an exchange. In fact, divorce is a life-long trade made with insufficient information during a period of mental exhaustion and emotional duress.

How on Earth can a wise decision be made during, or immediately following, a period of such magnificent handicap?

It can't.

I have watched men and women, whom I love, sprint towards divorce and the whole time I'm thinking NO! NO! NO! Do NOT sprint towards divorce! Run the marathon of forgiveness! And grace! And love! This is not a simple readjustment of partners, don't you realize that you are about to undergo surgery and neither you, nor your loved ones in the waiting room, will ever be the same again?

In light of all this it is my argument that in most cases I've witnessed, and as a default position, divorce is nearly always the worse decision of the two.

If you are considering divorce right now please ask yourself this question. Am I trying to make things better? Or am I trying to make things easy?

[image: theophene_guy]