More Bricks and New Trees

Just in case my last post dragged weighed you down with all that heavy talk about lifting bricks and excavation, I thought it was time to let you DIG a little deeper into another process I'm involved in when it comes to my marriage.

Or, to put it another not-so-poetic way--I want to let you know what I'm doing after I successfully manage to lift a stinkin' heavy brick off the freakin' wall! 

I plant a tree. 

Let me explain--because this isn't just imagery, I promise.  There are steps in between the brick-lifting and the tree-planting.  And, if I'm honest, it's almost always two-steps-forward-and-one-step back (or one-step-forward-and-two-steps-back).  'Cause it's hard, very, very, hard.  Back-breaking, actually.  But you should see my new muscles. 


As an excavator I will ...

- Lift heavy bricks such as this:  You should know me by now, Husband.  I'm hurt because you still can't read my mind don't know me and can't anticipate what I need from you. 

Or this brick:  Why don't you want to hang out with me more?  Why do you have to be so maddeningly independent? (...unless I'm wanting to be independent, in which case I'm all-to-happy to let you be independent...) 

Or, this one:  Husband, I have changed and my perspectives are not at all what they were early on in our marriage; I think differently, and I see the world and its people through a very different lens than I once did.  Your ideas, philosophies, and perspectives have not changed all that much, Husband, or maybe your views have only deepened--you seem absolutely convinced that your earlier lenses are clear and you're keeping them firmly in place.

Or this brick, or this brick, or this brick, or, or, or...

- Gasp and become horrified when I see the gross bugs, maggots, cobwebs, etc., that were under the brick I lifted:   Husband, not only do you reflect to me that you're wondering why I wear new lenses, but, even more, you reflect to me that you're wishing I'd put my old glasses back on so that we'd be more in-sync.  Except I can't. go. back, because that prescription doesn't work any more.  And you, husband, you shouldn't have to get new lenses just because I want us to look through the same lenses together.  (Or, just because it would be SO MUCH EASIER if we looked through the same lenses...)

- Avoid the temptation to avert my eyes or put the brick back in the wall:  I will face this unearthed truth.  I will first and foremost consider and admit to my own selfishness, my own unreasonable expectations and the unfair spoken and unspoken demands that I place upon you, Husband.  I will stare every maggot in the face, and I will not first blame you for its existence.  I will consider what's really bugging me, and I will dig deeply to root out any rotten muck that I brought with me in the first place.  BUT I WILL NOT TURN AWAY OR PUT THE BRICK RIGHT BACK ON THESE WALL(S).  But wait, Husband, there is more.  While I'm staring at the bugs and maggots and cobwebs and grossing out over every one, I will not play the blame game just for the sake of having one of us to blame.  Instead, I will do my best to extend us each the grace, love, mercy, forgiveness, and understanding that we both so badly need and we both so much deserve.  


And then I will plant a tree where there's a gap in the walls. 

- I will reach out to you, Husband, and ask you to help me lift the bricks I cannot lift alone.  I will move toward you rather than away from you.  I will trust in your love for me even when I cannot see it, feel it, or touch it.  We will swing together.  We will walk together.  We will dance together (hmmmm...  are you scared yet?).  I will ask you out on dates rather than wait for you to ask me.  I will, I will, God will, I will, God will, I will...

I love you, Husband.  Let's go green together.