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Who did you think you’d marry?

My husband–I unearthed this a few years into our marriage, when we finally had the fortitude to be more vulnerable with each other–thought he’d marry someone more athletic. (I am laughing out loud as I type. Poor guy.) To his credit, when he met me, I was running every morning, performing pushups and situps at night. We played intermural sports and pickup games of soccer together. We hiked together. And to my own credit, I still live an active lifestyle. But none of these has approved the actual coordination factor.

(My parents laugh about me as a child falling repeatedly into the same hole in the yard on my way over to the bus each morning. I do not share these memories. And one has to ask, if it were true: Why did no one ever fill in said hole?)

For my own part, I thought I would marry someone who sang well (ability to harmonize preferred) and played the guitar. I would call music a heart language of mine. So I have this coordinating Texas-sized soft spot for harmony and acoustic guitars. My husband laughs that though our college choirs sang in the same concert, we never crossed paths because I “was in the good choir”.

This topic of conversation arose a week or so ago as friends and I traveled to a local wedding. My friend piped up that she thought she’d marry someone who would run with her. They would have a dog together, and essentially run everywhere. Her husband snorted. “I got bad news for you, Hon. You not only got the wrong dude. You got the wrong dog.” (Their Great Dane is essentially motivated by…well. Nothing.)

So there’s definitely a humorous side to this. But there’s also a painful side, I know. (You can read more about my own issues with marital expectations here.) As we settle into marriage, sprouting love handles and gray hairs the gauge of guitar string–or long before–there’s always a bit of loss from expectations we didn’t realize had the pull of an undertow. Occasionally, we’re tempted to look over our shoulders.

Paul Miller, in his book A Loving Life: In a World of Broken Relationships, remarks that “Naive expectations make us high maintenance and supersensitive…The new American journey is from naiveté to cynicism. The result? We feel abused, betrayed, and bitter. It was better not to have dreamed. The magic is gone.”

A Generous Return Policy

Reminds me of someone’s anecdote about their recent trip to a natural foods store for a return. “Oh, no problem!” The clerk responded. “If this doesn’t fit your narrative in any way, we’ll gladly take it back.”

Um. Fit my narrative? 

(Does that include if I opened your box of organic crackers, munched a few, and decided I’d paid more than I should have for such low-sodium, low-fat, low-carb, dairy-nut-soy-egg-free nibbles?)

Sometimes after marriage, it can be a little too easy to think, You don’t really fit my narrative. Do you happen to have a generous return policy?

Truth:

Sometimes we do have some pretty massive gaps in our decisions to marry.

Truth:

Even your perfect person is not perfect.

Truth:

God loves us so much better, so much wiser than we love ourselves. His dreams are bigger than ours.

Miller again:

Suffering doesn’t create love, but it is a hothouse where love can emerge. Why is that? The great barrier to love is ego, the life of the self. In long-term suffering, if you don’t give in to self-pity, slowly, almost imperceptibly, self dies. This death of self offers ideal growing conditions for love.

Love will not grow if you check out and give in to the seductive call of bitterness and cynicism—or seek comfort elsewhere. We have to hang in there with the story that God has permitted in our lives. As we endure, as we keep showing up for life when it makes no sense, we learn to love, and God shows up too.*

Love–as a parent, as a spouse–lacks a fire escape.

Truth:

God assigns every one of our conflicts. They’re opportunities to love each other more. To love Him better. To become more like him. To live lives beautiful not because they were custom-ordered, but because they do the hard work of loving. (You might be interested in Love, Disappointed: How We’re Misled by Love Languages).

I personally am thankful that my marriage did not come with a return policy. Nor did my kids. Neither did I come with one when I arrived in my parents’ arms. Nor will God ever accuse me of not fitting his narrative. 

Truth:

Marriage is sheer faith. But not in your spouse. And not in yourself.

All joking aside, I realize you may be in an exquisitely painful position right now that utterly obscures why God matched you with this one. Maybe you’ve become different people. And quite possibly, he’s not the guy you thought he was.

Or vice versa. I was not the person I thought I was.  (See this post, Did you marry the wrong person?)

And yet–ultimately, your co-signer, your ultimate safety net, is Someone infinitely bigger than the one you married.

I realize there are depths of exquisite pain there I can’t even conceive of here in Happily Married Land. Note: If you are in an abusive relationship, please consider the wisdom in this podcast, What the Bible Says about Abuse in Marriage.

Truth:

Marriage is not “I do. Until I’m not happy.”

What to do about the one you thought you would marry, fictional or non-? Ruthlessly take captive that rich fantasy life. (This post, Christian, Married–and Attracted Elsewhere, has some practical ideas.) Miller, once more: “Once we discover the other person is deeply flawed, we often pull back, thinking everything is wrong. A bad marriage is one where neither spouse does the hard work of love. But as soon as one spouse begins to do [committed love], the bad marriage disappears.”*

Make it your life’s work to love well the one you’re with. And who knows?

You might just stumble upon a love story.

 

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*Miller, Paul E. A Loving Life: In a World of Broken Relationships (Kindle Locations 177-178, 221-223, 282-284, 1545-1546). Crossway. Kindle Edition.