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18 de Febrero 2008
Memoir - Chapter 8: Emotional Differences
Note: This is part of a larger series. Start here to read the whole thing.
One of the hardest things about my recovery has been the widely different emotional reactions that Marialice and I have had facing this time.
The experience itself was very different for each of us. I did not have to be ushered out of a room, where my beloved spouse was in trauma while emergency doctors prepared to perform emergency measures. I didn’t have to face the chance I’d never see my spouse alive again. I did not have to give that spouse up again 3 times, watching him wheeled down the hall to the uncertain destination of surgery. Nor did I have the joy of return, of being reunited with that person I gave up for lost (or feared might be lost). I didn’t face the same terrors and I didn’t rejoice with the same gratitude.
When I came home from the hospital, while I was grappling with weakness and illness, angry at new limitations, Marialice had the joy of seeing again one she thought lost. She was experiencing Christ’s love in my salvation. I wanted her to share my grief and she wanted me to experience the rejoicing. I wanted her to feel my pain and she wanted me to feel the love of Christ.
We weren’t on the same page.
And the differences have continued in the last few months. I think Marialice has given me up every time I leave the house on the bike. She asked me not to ride alone, or to ride on the main streets to work. And yet I have persisted, returning to old habits that had really become part of who I am. So every time I leave, Marialice has faced a little bit of the fear I might not return, and grieved my loss for that moment.
I on the other hand, have ridden off in joy, in exuberance and gratitude at the return of an activity that I love so much, something that is really part of me. I have been the one feeling the rush of riding and the possibility of strength.
We haven’t been on the same page.
In our marriage it has been hard to see through each others eyes. In the presence of these differences it is so easy to silence ourselves in our own worlds rather than face each other. It has always been hard to communicate our emotions strongly and honestly in the midst of difference’s discomfort. It has been far too easy merely to capitulate or disagree “Oh you are right…let’s not face this difference” “Oh, that’s not what you feel, it must be this way.” Neither have been helpful.
We’ve been prone to back away, to leave each other alone in the midst of our own emotions. We’ll touch briefly the differences we face in a quiet moment, or late at night when we are going to bed, but our normal behavior is to stay in front of the computer or dive deep into a book and not face each other. That has made our work difficult.
The story continues toward greater connection and communication, but that is another chapter.
Posted by rob at 10:00 AM | TrackBack
14 de Febrero 2008
Memoir - Chapter 7: Where is God in all of this?
Note: This is part of a larger series. Start here to read the whole thing.
In July of last year I wrote:
Lord I need you today. I want to feel your presence in my life. I want to know your love. I want to hear your voice showing me where to go and what to do. I feel the despair of Psalm 42 today. I long for my God. I say why have you forgotten me? Then comes rushing in the answers. Some voices say “You don’t deserve to hear my voice because you haven’t been disciplined enough” other voices say “don’t you see the way you’ve been lead and cared for and protected all these years? Is that not voice enough?” But the truth of Romans 8 speaks into the lies of the first answer. I will never be good enough for your love. Will your promise of no condemnation be kept for me today? The second statement is true enough, but Lord, I want more! I am grateful for all the ways you guide and protect. But I feel myself to be merely floating, never really passionate for you and for your work. I feel myself to be existing, not loved, cynical not engaged, distant and not dearly loved. You know this has been my life long feeling and so this is not some “Dry spell” but is this the normal experience? Lord I ask and I do not hear your voice answering.
There grew in me after that moment an anger – a challenge to God. Why are you silent? Why is there so little demonstrable change in my life? I’ve long wanted God to show up in a dramatic way that would expose my need for him in significant way, producing some transformative catharsis. My following has always been marked by the frustrating lack of God’s presence. I’ve always wanted God to break down the walls of my heart, and give me a powerful demonstration of his love.
I did not expect him to take my request so literally in October.
What I really wanted was the powerful experience of God’s love expressed to me in such a way as to clear my life of what might be inconsequential and motivate toward true discipleship, that would fill me with the boldness of true love, that would enable me toward risky love of the radical sort, that would help me to focus on what was really important and urgent in this life.
Or maybe I’ll put the whole issue more naturalistically, in the words of Steve Jobs:
I’ve looked in the mirror every morning, and asked myself; if today were the last day of my life would I want to do what I’m about to do today. Whenever the answer has been no for to many days in a row, I know I need to change something. Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything, all external expectation, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure; these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I’ve found to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked, there is no reason not to follow your heart.(Stanford Commencement Message – June 2005)
So I experienced the physical trauma – the sort you might expect to shake things up – the sort you might expect to produce the sort of cathartic experience I have long desired. I experienced a near death experience – the kind you read about and hear that changed peoples lives.
But facing death has not given me the clarity of vision or purpose, it has not shown me the dead weight, or the true calling. Being saved from near death has not given me a deep and renewed experience of God’s love and transforming power. I feel very much the same crusty and lukewarm man. It has not produced in me the cathartic experience I yearned for. And so I’ve remained angry at the absence of God in all this. I think you’ve heard that in my words.
Posted by rob at 9:30 PM | TrackBack