A Broken Romance: Healing in the midst of Marriage.

Re-blogged from Inkslinger Blog. Original Article here:

Deanna's original post on Inkslinger Blog

My spouse is probably more romantic than I am. Honestly. He’s the one bringing home the flowers. He’s the one who remembers our anniversary every year when I can’t keep the date in my head. He’s the one who bought me a pager when we were dating and declared when we send the number 333 to each other that meant “I love you”. It also became our favorite time of the day. At 3:33 PM every day we would try to page each other, just to let each other know we were thinking about one another. We even got married at 3:33PM. Still to this day, fifteen years of marriage, eighteen years of knowing each other later, if I spot 3:33 on the clock I will glance up and see if he’s noticed too. He usually has.

My husband is the one who “gave” me a song when we were dating and used to lip read the words to me when it played. He’s the one who found a more grown-up song when we got older and needed a more mature song. He’s the one who turns the song on when I’m grumpy and comes over and slow-dances with me in the kitchen. It never fails to improve my mood significantly.

He’s the one that hates instituted holiday’s like Valentine’s Day, (Hallmark Holiday, anyone?) because he’s supposed to get me stuff. He rebels and won’t buy me flowers ON Valentines because he’s going to stick it to the man. No one can tell him when to buy his wife flowers. Instead he does it the week before or the week after. In his older age, he usually brings me a box of chocolate on the actual holiday. His resolve is slowly weakening, it seems. I don’t mind.

He’s also the man who used to suffer from a frequent horrible temper. Or maybe I should say, I was the one who suffered. When we married young, he hadn’t learned self-control or coping mechanisms to deal with life. It effected our marriage severely for many years. Within time, we decided we both wanted a better marriage and both of us set our minds to fix the mess we’d made of it.

I was angry. Hurt. After years of struggle, I was done with it. I wanted something better. But first he had to suffer like I had. Chad knew he had messed up. And messed up bad. But he was determined to make it right. For about two whole years I was mean to him. Downright nasty. I wanted him to feel the pain he had caused me for so long. And instead of being mean back, he controlled himself. He took it like a man. And he LOVED ME THROUGH IT. I was mean. He was nice. He continued being nice even though I definitely didn’t deserve it.

I don’t remember who bought the Love Dare book, but somehow it ended up in our home. My husband decided to do the Love Dare challenge on me. He didn’t tell me what he was doing but within the course of the month, I’m pretty sure I figured it out. He was determined to heal our marriage and set things right. I don’t remember details of that month, but I know by the end of it, I was feeling the love. I knew our marriage had a chance.

Eventually when I realized he really had changed, I knew I needed to change too. I had gotten my anger out. I was guilty as well. It wasn’t just him as the bad guy anymore. I was the bad guy too. Now I had to make things right. I had to let God take our marriage and mold it into His marriage. This wasn’t just about us anymore. We were going to put God in the middle and keep Him there from now on.

All that being said, I think the most romantic thing he’s ever done for me is simply let me heal. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He knew he would have to die to self-daily. But he knew what needed to be done and did it. That, my friends, is sacrifice. And sacrifice is the most romantic kind of love there is.

With Valentines Day coming up here fast, what is one way you can show your spouse or loved one that they are cherished and adored? Tell us in the comments below.

Love in Literature - Part Two

By Robin

I love stories about love. Love at first sight. Love that sneaks up quietly after years of friendship. Love that causes the heart to beat and the breath to draw short. Love that pulses, quivers, gushes, consumes, and overwhelms. 

I love those stories because they stimulate us, awaken us, and enrapture us. It is the tension that keeps us reading until the end; the sigh of satisfaction when we close the book.

These kinds of love stories will never grow old, will they?

Though I will always retain a sort of affection for happy endings, I find the older I get, and the more I learn about myself, my God, and my world, the more complex I need my love stories to be. The less satisfied I tend to be by wedding bells and the implied promise of Happily Ever After. 

That's why I've begun to appreciate and love a different type of love story over the years. These stories tell of love that rips, shreds, and leaves scars one must overcome to be whole again. Or love that is old, lacks romance, and goes on plodding long after the pulse slows and the excitement wanes. It's love that must be fought for, sometimes lost and grieved over, and other times it goes unrequited. There is something heartrendingly lovely and honest about a love story like that.

When my turn came to write the second part of "Love in Literature" (you can read Part One by Jebraun here), my mind consistently went to two surprising works of literature. Both tell love stories that are at times sad and painful, and both end in ambiguity.


Astrophil and Stella

Written over 450 years ago by a man who's life was tragic in its own right, Sir Philip Sydney, this sonnet sequence begins with one of my favorite lines of poetry. After falling helplessly, miserably in love, Astrophil pens: "'Fool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and write.'"

He had considered himself above the throes and fancies of love, but finds himself undone by the lovely Stella. "Mine eyes (shall I say cursed or blessed) beheld Stella; now she is named, need more be said?"

But she won't return his favors--out of virtue, or ungratefulness--he cannot tell. But he feels scorned and disgraced. What's worse, she sees his woe but doesn't pity him. When he finally works up the nerve to tell her how he feels, she stops his mouth with a kiss.

The joy is short-lived however. He is forced to depart, and now it's Stella who mourns the bitterness of love. After some time apart, they find that they've changed. Stella admits to Astrophil,  

"'But the wrongs love bears will make 
Love at length leave undertaking."

Their love story, as near as I can tell, ends disappointingly for readers who rooted for them to be together in the end. There is no saccharine ending tied up with a bow. It's sad and frustrating. And yet there is still comfort for those of us who have discovered, in the reality of our own lives, the often confusing, unsatisfying, calamitous truth of love. 

And who of us hasn't? We live in a fallen world. We ourselves are fallen, and we love fallen people. We wound and we lash out to wound others in our pain. 

Sometimes we accept the pain, swallow the disappointment, and choose to love love anyway. That is the story of my second favorite literary love story. It's a tale thousands of years old. It's meaning has been debated for as many years. Is it an allegory? A literal love story between two actual people? Maybe it's both.We don't know who wrote it, when it was written, or who it was actually about. But without a doubt, it's a love story.

Song of Solomon

She loves him. He loves her. Their desire for one another is unmistakable. They enjoy the sight of one another, admire one another, and look forward with great anticipation to their union, which seems to come in the second chapter.

"Behold, he comes...and says to me:
'Arise, my love, my beautiful one, 
and come away,
for behold, the winter is past;
the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
the time of singing has come."

The sexual imagery continues to the end of the chapter, according to some commentators, with ripe figs, blossoming vines, clefts, crannies, and grazing among the lilies.

But something is amiss in chapter three:

"On my bed by night
I sought him whom my soul loves;
I sought him, but found him not."

She goes out in the city looking for him, asking if others have seen him. She finds him, clings to him, and will not let him go. Then she begs the daughters of Jerusalem not to "stir up or awaken love until it pleases." (3:5)

Next comes the wedding, which seems a happy affair despite the events that have just transpired. They come together in the garden (not a coincidental location). She sleeps, but when she awakens, again, he is gone. Again she goes into the city looking for him, and gives the daughters of Jerusalem this message: "If you find my beloved...you tell him I am sick with love." (5:8)

Their response seems unhelpful at best. "What is your beloved more than another beloved, O most beautiful among women?" (5:9)

What's a girl to do when she's disappointed by love, and her friends are no help?

Her response is both sad and wonderful, I think. She praises him. It's as if she's saying, "He's my husband, for better or worse, and right now, even though it's hard, I choose love." It's sacrificial, mature, heart-breaking, and the story of most every marriage that has gone the distance in our broken, often disappointing world.

In the end, she longs for her husband as a wife should, despite her broken heart.

"Love is strong as death,
jealousy is fierce as the grave...
Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can floods drown it."

Is it a happy ending? Well...it's complicated, as love so often is. And that's why I love it.

What are your favorite literary love stories? Please share in the comments and join the conversation.

The Ultimate Story

by Jebraun Clifford

I remember when I first learned to read words and sentences strung together to make a story. At the tender age of five, I sat with “Little Bear” by Maurice Sendak on my lap. At the beginning, only the first page made any sense. Then, as I grew in confidence and ability, page after page came alive.

The story transported me to another world.

I traveled with Little Bear to the moon, tasted the birthday cake his mother baked for him, felt the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet.

Throughout my childhood, this scenario was repeated again and again as I moved to more challenging books with fewer illustrations and longer chapters. Jenny and the Cat Club, Little House on the Prairie, Anne of Green Gables. 

Stories entertained me for hours, fueled my imagination, and satisfied my soul.

I lived for the days when my teacher would pass out the Scholastic book club order sheets. My parents put limits on how much I could spend (otherwise I’d buy every book!) and I’d spend hours poring over each description, agonizing over this title or that.

One of my purchases was a condensed version of “Little Women,” and I read it so many times that the pages drifted out of the spine. Imagine my delight when my grandmother gave me a beautiful hardback copy, and I found undiscovered chapters with more details of the March girls’ antics. Of course, I broke down in tears when I read that Jo didn’t marry Laurie, and even the appearance of kindly Professor Bhaer wasn’t enough to quench my disappointment.

So many of the stories I read made deep, lasting impacts on me, and I can truthfully say that some changed the way I think.

For this is the magic of stories.

Stories engage us. 

Challenge us. 

Entreat us.

Madeleine L’Engle says “stories make us more alive, more human, more courageous, more loving.”

My favourite story is one I find myself returning to again and again. In each season of my life, it’s meant something a little different.

Every time I read it, I’m struck anew by its richness and depth.

The story tells of an individual who left his home to seek a bride. 

To rescue her from destruction and death. 

To find all things lost. 

To heal all things wounded. 

To bind all things broken.

To establish an ever-expanding kingdom.

This quest would cost the God-man his life, a price he was more than willing to pay.

Would you be interested in such a story? Would it surprise you to discover that you are the bride? And that you have a part to play in creating this kingdom? 

For we’re all involved in this great cosmic story. An epic struggle against good and evil with a cowardly antagonist and a glorious Hero. Of princesses, warriors, and kings. This story has spanned the ages and will continue on into eternity.

And this time, there will be no let-down at the end of the story. No disappointment. No tears.

This is the ultimate Story, and one I love to read again and again. Do you know it?

Be blessed,

 

Just Listen to the Boy : Five Love Languages and Teens

Today I had a heartfelt discussion with my teenager. He came to me in the midst of massive teen angst and my first reaction was, You’re really going to tick me off, I know it. Then I took a deep breath and changed my direction to, Oh Lord, Give me the strength to know how to handle this, and the correct words that will help this situation and not make it worse.

And guess what? God did exactly as I asked. Thank you, Jesus!

My son wasn’t feeling loved. I was flabbergasted. I show him love every day. How dare he say that?

Calm down Deanna, and listen to the boy.

Sometimes shutting our own traps can be the hardest thing ever. Especially for me. So, I shut it and listened. At first, he was a miserable mess of frustrated communication, but when he could finally verbalize exactly what he was feeling, we got down to the core of it. I was loving him, but he wasn’t feeling loved. 

That’s where the five love languages (Gary Chapman’s Five Love Languages - if you haven’t read his book, you should check it out.) comes into play. Everyone feels loved in all of the five ways, but there’s always one that rises to the top as if saying, “Oh that’s me, that’s when I start feeling all gooey and wonderful inside.”

The five love languages are:

1.     Quality Time

2.     Words of Affirmation

3.     Physical Touch

4.     Acts of Service

5.     Receiving Gifts

So I went through them and we figured out his top love language is Quality Time. This is one of the hardest ones for me to give. Being a mom of four, a wife, a homemaker and a writer leaves me with less time than I would like to have. He said my phone in my hand was distracting me from giving him the love he felt he needed. I agreed.

I told him the phone will be put away when they are home. I will devote more time to making eye contact and conversation and just LISTENING to the kid. That’s all he wants, is for someone to hear him. For his siblings not to interrupt. For my phone not to interrupt. For housework not to get in the way. Just time to sit and be with each other.

We also went through to see what my love language was. Figured out pretty quickly that it’s Acts of Service. My husband’s is Physical Touch. This is funny because it all makes sense. Even when my husband and I were dating he would get hurt when I didn’t hold his hand. I never understood it, because that is not how I felt loved. But it is how he feels loved. It’s still the same in our marriage. I give him the touch he needs and he’s happy as a clam.

My teenage son’s close second to Quality Time is Physical Touch and that totally makes sense to me now. I look back on all the times he comes up for hugs, still, as a teen. Many inches towering over me, he just stands there and stares at me until I realize he wants a hug. I don’t work that way, so it’s not second nature to me. I have to work at it, to think it through and figure out what it is he really needs from me.

I love when people DO for me. That makes me happy. I have enough to do, so when I get help, I feel loved. When my husband does the dishes, does the laundry, rubs my back, mows the lawn, brings home a paycheck, all these things make me feel loved.

It’s no wonder my son and me were having a hard time feeling love from one another. He wanted me to just sit and chat, while that is the hardest one for me since I struggle to enjoy it when there are other things to get done. And there’s always something else to be done.

I wanted more help around the house from him. We both were looking to fill our love quota by forcing our own love language on each other. Instead, we can start GIVING each other what the other needs to feel loved.

I THOUGHT I was showing him love by DOING things for him, and he didn’t feel it. But when I take the time to love him the way he feels loved, the way he needs, then things can get better.

Does that mean, he can’t be considerate and understand when my schedule doesn’t allow for long periods of quality time? No, because he still needs to learn to live in the world and the world ‘aint fair. But does it mean I need to make a more concerted effort to show him love the way he needs? Yes, for sure. Just like I make an effort to show my husband, I need to do the same for my kids.

Is it exhausting and time-consuming? Yes.

Is it worth it? Absolutely.

Your Sister In Christ,

-Deanna Fugett

What’s your Love Language? Let us know in the comments below. J

*I received permission to post this blog from my teenage son. In no way, shape, or form do I ever wish to embarrass my kids by sharing information they are not willing for me to share.  

Complaining about wrapping too many gifts. Not cool. Not cool at all.

I wrote this two weeks ago. Merry Christmas folks.

I’m sitting here thinking how this will be my last day ‘off’ without all four kids in the house for the next three weeks. Here I am, getting more and more frustrated because this is the last day I will have the freedom to openly wrap Christmas gifts without my kids around. I would much rather do it out on the kitchen table then hiding in my bedroom, trying to wrap, on the carpeted floor late at night after they’re asleep.

I don’t want to spend the whole day wrapping, I want to write! My LAST DAY OF FREEDOM FOR THREE WHOLE WEEKS!!

So here I am, pouting because I’ll have to spend my day wrapping instead of writing when it hits me.

I have a ton of gifts to wrap.

And I mean a ton, and we are able to afford that stuff this year. I will still be ordering a few more after I look through them to make sure all my kids have a somewhat ‘equal’ number of gifts. And I can do this without batting an eye this year. What a humongous blessing!

With each passing year, God has given us a little more. With each new baby that came into our lives, God upped our income a little bit more to meet that need. He never failed. Four babies later, he has done some marvelous things with our income since my husband got this last job. We’re comfortable and content. We’re not scared anymore. We’re not freaking out because of the holidays. There is no massive lump in my gut threatening to steal the joy of Christmas this year. There is PEACE.

Yet, looking back, there’s always been a peace. Sometimes it was harder to find than others, but it always showed up at our doorstep. Literally, at our doorstep. Diapers, clothes, money. No joke. God always took care of us. And when we had faith he WOULD, He always DID. Even when our faith faltered and stuttered, He was faithful to provide. My husband and I are constantly shaking our heads, saying, what did we do to deserve this? How can God be so merciful and good to such rotten sinners such as us? When I look back on where we’ve been and where we are, all I can say is WOW, what a difference.

Our first few Christmases with our one little guy were pretty easy. We didn’t have much to give and he was too young to know any better.

I would hide and save all the toys that would come in a kids Happy Meal and save them to give him for Christmas. (I don’t think he even realized Happy Meals came with toys until he was five!) These were meals I couldn’t even afford. Anytime we went out it was usually my parents paying or someone else paying. We didn’t have the money. So, all these little ‘throw-away’ toys would be saved for Christmas.

I remember one particularly hard year when we had nothing for him and my husband had gotten a free hat and mug from work. Well, that would have to do. It sucked, but it was all we had. He also brought home this muddy, filthy rag and showed it to me.

“What in the world is that?”

He stretched it out. A boy’s hoodie caked in mud. It looked like it might be a tad too big for him. He found it on the side of the road. I was repulsed. I wasn’t about to give my son that thing. But my husband asked me to wash it and see what happened. I washed it, and sure enough, under all that mud there were dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were his favorite thing. It was perfect.

I may have washed it a couple more times to get it as clean as possible. Then it got wrapped and put under the tree. Our son never once complained about not having lots of amazing gifts. He never once said, “Mommy, Daddy, this isn’t enough. You didn’t buy enough toys this year.” He just smiled and said thanks. And guess what? That hoodie sweatshirt became his favorite piece of clothing. He wore it as much as he could for the next few years. When he finally couldn’t fit into it any longer we gave it to his younger brother.

Even if all these silly gifts I have to wrap, were not here, my kids could still have joy in knowing there is love in our family. The Christmas spirit would prevail. And material possessions mean nothing when you have the peace and love our Lord Jesus provides. Sometimes I even miss those hard years. When I HAD to cling to the Lord. When I fell at his feet continually and His presence and comfort were so real and near. It was such a beautiful gift…his closeness, his abundant love wrapping me up when I was at my lowest, crying out to Him. He answered me in His sweet and gentle way. Through love from others, through joy, peace, and laughter. Through strength.

I would not be the person today that I am, stronger than I’ve ever been, more firm in my faith and my convictions if I hadn’t been through the fire, only to come out the other side refined. God sure has more refining he needs to put me though, but for now, I’m glad for the respite. As tough as those times were, God never failed me. Even when it felt like he was gone, he never left me. He watched over my family and loved us through it, each and every step of the way.

I’m thankful for a loving God and Savior, full of mercy and grace who came to this earth as a babe, so that someday, he would offer himself up to be hung on a cross, to take away the sins of the world through his overwhelming sacrifice of love. I’m thankful for a God who loves us when times are good and when times are hard.

I know a lot of folks who are going to have a hard Christmas this year. Let’s pray for them, give them our ‘extras.’ Give them more than our extras. Sacrifice. Give and love.  And thank JESUS even in the hard times. Merry Christmas everyone.

Love,
Deanna

And to wish you a Merry Christmas and as a gift to you, our readers, I have compiled a fun playlist for your listening pleasure. Just click on the link below. The last one is the best…just wait for it. 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzv3dcoE24sJlMrVzOy_2rIUiw-5KzZHi