I broke down crying. “I just feel like I can never get this thing right.”
A few weeks later…
I broke down crying. “This is absolutely one of the stupidest things humans do.”
A month later…
I broke down crying. “So that means this isn’t going to end well….”
What was making me sob my heart out, you might be wondering?
Let’s face it. That picture is awfully sweet, and those people look like they’re really into each other, but what happened after the vows is a different story…
Marriage IS one of the stupidest things a person can do with his or her life. It’s one of the most painful commitments, one of the most heart wrenching experiences, one of the least glamorous jobs, one of the most tediously vulnerable places to be…
Marriage is self-sacrifice. And it hurts like hell.
White satin, masculine plaid, fragrant roses, and sparkle of diamond don’t show the twisting, tearing, churning, ripping, exploding, decaying of two sinners who said, “I do.” The pain of WWIII is too raw to capture.
I’ve cried a lot over my marriage the past three and a half years. And I’ve had to ask myself, “Will you let this kill you? Will it drive you to utter madness and misery?”
With rock hard fists, in drenching sweat, through smeared muck, as bitter tears sting I shout, “No! This marriage will not be torn asunder!”
Because, you see, it takes pain to find out what we really believe in. It takes the blood, sweat, and tears of WWIII in our kitchen to make us either dig in and die to self or viciously fight to the death.
Either way we lose the battle. Death that allows freedom or death for the sake of death.
Dying to self will bring freedom to our souls, and we will be released from the chains that bind so that we can (are able to) bond with our spouse.
This has been my last ditch effort to end WWIII and find my husband beneath the rubble. It’s been my white flag. I’ve died to self and I’ve found freedom.
You know what I think we do a lot in our society? We whine. We whine about our problems. We whine about our spouse. We whine about our circumstances. We whine about not getting enough. We whine about not having it all.
It’s not a perfect life. For anyone. You know what? Get over it. Give up the fight. Surrender. Turn yourself in. Seek counsel. Seek Christ. Heal. Change. Renew.
Go find your love beneath the rubble – torn and tattered bowtie and satin – and declare your allegiance in honor of the vows you took at the alter. You’ll die. And then you’ll live.