Feminine 101

Meet myself and Mr. Right.

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We crammed into the tiny parsonage of our small-town church. Four other couples sat awkwardly close scattered across couches and on the floor. Three of the pairs had been married two years or less. Our pastor, having been married some fifteen years, wished to offer guidance and encouragement. In a culture whose diminishing views of marriage tell husbands they’ll never escape the “ole’ ball-n-chain and whisper to wives she doesn’t need any man, it’s an encouragement we could probably all use a little more of.  All settled in, our pastor raised the question, “What, so far, has surprised you the most about marriage?” 

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My husband–whom we’ll call Mr. Right in an attempt to protect the innocent–and I both agreed that it was surprising how easy it was. But we were still in our first year, right? I was just then pregnant with our first child, so of course that was bound to change. Except it didn’t.

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Oh there were certainly moments that were challenging. When my eldest was just four months old, screaming in the middle of the night, I had reached a whole new level of exhaustion.  I was a mother for the first time, thoroughly exasperated and on the verge of tears. I remember exclaiming rather forcefully, “I don’t know what to do!”

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Mr Right, who even then rarely lost his cool and virtually never snapped at me, snapped back, “Neither do I!”

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At that moment understanding dawned bright in the dark of night: this is why parenting is hard. So, if I can remember that what happens at four in the morning is more indicative of a lack of sleep than the state of our marriage, it’ll save us a great deal of grief. I could have grace for that. After all, he was exhausted, too. (By the way, a much wiser woman, I now know there are anti-gas medicines, and varieties of formula that different babies digest, well, differently. So try a different one if they’re collicky and spitting up regularly).

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In case you were thinking that it’s easy because we’re probably not poor, those first few years were definitely closer to the “famine” side of things, or as much as any American can get. We lived on less than $20k a year for a long time with no government assistance beyond basic Medicaid. When I, on my second pregnancy, came to my husband asking if I could just be a stay-at-home mom, we talked candidly about the possible ramifications. We’d just bought our first home. It was a stretch without me quitting. If we couldn’t afford it, we could potentially be forced to sell. Then we took the step, knowing that even that sacrifice was worth it. This was all despite never, ever, ever wanting children. Against all my youthful misgivings, I love being a mom with all it entails. I revel in my children and their father immensely. So staying home with those babies while tightening our belts, has been the most rewarding thing I’ve ever had the privilege of doing.

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One of the most challenging experiences arose when we were presented with an opportunity to buy a business together. I nearly choked on the price, then Mr. Right about bowled me over when he said out loud, “We’re definitely interested!” Once we talked it over, I saw his vision, and got on board. I went to work on all the paper– and legwork while he worked long hours to support us. He was probably putting in some 60-70 hours a week after we purchased it. I was working full-time out of our home to navigate all the bureaucratic and financial red tape while still being a stay-at-home mom. It was the most nerve-wracking time of our lives as we literally bet the farm on the whole deal. The stress could have been a wrecking ball to any marriage.

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But God is ever faithful to us. He’s proven year after year that His is the hand that feeds us and He will never fail. Moreover, it’s been my privilege to witness Mr. Right blossom into a clever and wise businessman. Not only that, but I thoroughly enjoy what we do for a living–a job no one ever suggests on career day. And the nature of the work still enables me to homeschool our children. 

Other struggles came in the form of family conflict that erupted over inheritance. I was bewildered and astonished at how a series of events was so viciously construed. Even five years after the initial clash, I lay ugly-crying–I mean guttural, raw sobbing–while Mr. Right held me. I told him that it felt like I was walking around with a sucking chest wound and expected to act normal. But when I want to rail at false accusers, he gently and firmly reminds me that we don’t know enough to make any real judgment, that such assumptions are what started the whole fight in the first place. He is intent on ensuring we behave uprightly. 

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Still more heartache beset us in the form of miscarriages. What is there to say at the loss of a tiny life? They are my sons and daughters that I never had a chance to know. Most days, I’m at peace with that. But others? It will hit me as if it just happened. Sorrow blooms afresh as though it didn’t happen a decade ago. How I look forward to meeting them someday! Mr. Right walks with me, steady as ever, even on the dark days knowing that I love them.

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No, life has not been easy. Show me the man or woman who could say otherwise. But in the midst of this tangled and messy life, there is this one thing that abides and has proven thus far unshakable. It makes me think of the scene in the cartoon “Hercules” where the three sisters try to cut his life thread, and find it impenetrable. It’s like that. Perhaps the beauty of such imagery is that, until the cut was made, it looked so…ordinary.

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One anniversary, I remember talking to Mr. Right about our relationship. He said, “It’s like God decided He was just going to show us how good He can be.” I can only agree. In a fallen world, it’s not a bad gig. Nearly every couple I know has had to strive and fight to make it work at times. To a man, they would say that it’s hard. I can tell you with confidence, however, that after 17 years of marriage, I’m still surprised at how easy it is.

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Because that is anything but ordinary.

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Since ours is such an uncommon story, it seems reasonable that others might wonder how we do it. I can tell you very little from his perspective except what he has told me. But I can share a whole host of lessons learned from the perspective of a wife and mother. It’s my sincere hope to realistically equip women with the tools of that rapidly-vanishing art called womanhood. It’s past time that we start recognizing the worth of femininity. And, because I’ve been constantly guided by the truth of the Bible and the faithfulness of God, because He and His Word are such an intrinsic part of our story, I refuse to leave Him out of it. 

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I do want to emphasize that the focus here will be on the part of the wife. Here’s why: It’s been more than a decade since my husband and I got in a knock-down, drag-out fight. He was telling me how something was not possible for him. I had, many times, tried to be encouraging because I genuinely believe there is greatness in him, but he always had an answer. So this time I just said with more than a little snideness, “Of course. You couldn’t do it.”

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He responded with agreement.

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I just agreed in an infuriatingly patronizing tone, repeating, “Nope, you couldn’t do it.”

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A stillness came over him. He said, “You need to stop.”

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I looked right at him and said it again. “You couldn’t do it.”

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He stood up, grabbed the arm of my chair and dumped me, unceremoniously onto the floor. I jumped up all fiery-mad and told him he couldn’t just manhandle me or something like that. Then I went storming off to our bedroom. I wanted to just fume about how unjust he was to treat me like that. But I’m convinced it was God that simply would not let me. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the conviction that I needed to see to my own flaws. I spent probably an hour praying and wrestling with my lack of respect and honor for my husband. Then I went to put the kids to bed because real life doesn’t care if you would prefer to pout. 

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Mr. Right had made himself scarce. But, after tucking them in, he met me at the bottom of the stairs. “I kept wanting to be mad at you…” Apparently, he was dealing with the exact same convictions. Lesson learned? I cannot make him do or be anything. I will have to trust God to deal with Mr. Right’s shortcomings. But I do have control over me, so I’d better get that right.

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My fellow wives, it’s time we take responsibility for the part that we have played in the fundamental undervaluing of femininity. More than anything, that’s what this book is about. If your husband is anything short of a monster, then stop blaming his imperfections as though you have none of your own. I know we like to say, “Well nobody’s perfect, but–” Just stop right there. Nobody’s perfect. That includes you. So I call you to own up to your failures as a woman and to do better. If not, how can you expect such things of him? So, strap in, ladies, because some of this is bound to strike a nerve.

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