August 28, 2012
God Does Answer Prayers
Not very long ago, I was having a (WordPress comments) conversation with somebody (I have brain damage moments lately, so I can not recall whom), and the conversation turned towards God answering prayers.
I do believe that God answers every prayer, though sometimes the answer is “No.”
We had been discussing many fancy things like string and sealing wax and I don’t know what all (brain damage, remember?) but we had definitely been discussing housework in general, and dirty dishes in particular. I had made the statement that I very much wanted a dishwasher, but have no space in which to put one. Therefore it would be silly of me to ask God for a dishwasher. I quipped, “I suppose I will just have to start asking God for a place to put a dishwasher.”
This was simply a statement I made in jest. As I have said before, my husband and I currently live in the home he inherited from his parents. It is, aside from the lack of dishwasher space, more than large enough for the two of us. It is set on beautiful land with a nearby stream and lovely forest. The town is convenient, and the people here are pleasant. I can envision us living here for a very long time, possibly the rest of our lives (unless God calls us elsewhere, as He has a way of doing, but that’s another topic altogether).
But I have thought on and off about it since making the statement, and I have made the prayer, “hey… if it isn’t out of the question… it would be really nice to have practical space here to have a dishwasher.” I made a good case for it. I reminded God how horrible I am about doing dishes, and how having clean dishes would enable me to be a better wife. How this would help me to feel better about myself as a wife. How this would help my husband to have a tangible display that he is loved and respected. How this would help our marriage to be more wonderful and good than it already is.
I never got on my knees and handed Him a printout of my power-point presentation “How God Can Increase The Godliness Of Our Marriage With A Place To Put A Dishwasher” (along with keepsake pen and magnetic paperclip holder). But I did have these ideas floating in my head when I made the “it would be really nice if you would” prayers.
And then one day it happened! I found the wonderful world of counter-top dishwashers!
I do not mean those wimpy little things that can only fit three salad plates and a tea-cup, and then it squirts water on them for a few minutes at a velocity and volume roughly equal to that of a dollar store water gun. God led me to an actual appliance.
It is like a one-rack dishwasher. And it fits easily on my counter. God already provided me with a counter. All I had to do was clear it off to make room for my dishwasher.
This thing is awesome. And it has been working hard.
Hurray for teeny appliances!
July 13, 2012
That Old, Lame Joke… I Experienced The Return Of The Hallway F***
We all know some version of the joke… when you first get together you have Hall Sex, if you pass each other in the hall, you get frisky.
This “declines” to Bedroom Sex, where you only have your encounters in the bedroom.
The joke concludes with the cycling back to Hall Sex, where if you brush against one another in the hall you say “fuck you”…
And nearly everyone chuckles because if this is NOT you, you know some couple who is in the second hallway phase.
My husband and I have a weirdly wonderful relationship, in that we have remained devoted to one another consistently for the 12 years we have been married (plus a couple of years of living in sin before that).
When we were first together, we were more than just Hallway people. We did “it” in places most people will never even go to at all, let alone be intimate! I will not detail our various locations and frequencies. Suffice it to say, if I had had any check list of “locations I want to make love” they would have been all checked off, and then some.
Sadly, I have spoken to you before of our lack of tangible marital bliss. How the cycle of depression has kept us from even touching one another.
We had gone through the “Bedroom” stage.
I had held on to the fact that we were devoted to each other.
We were different from most people.
I was clinging so tightly to my thought that we were different from most people!!
We all like to believe that we are different from most people.
But there is a reason that most people are called most people.
Because most of us are like them.
I got home from work late today. Not exceedingly late, just only enough to set schedules slightly askew. Which is, in its own way, worse than being hours late.
Do we want dinner? Did you eat? I’m a little too tired and bitchy to make food, so if you already ate I would rather not put forth the effort.
Yeah, I missed That Show which I never actually watch but you do and tell me about While It Is On so go ahead and give me a play-by-play of it, I’ll let a moth inside in hopes of distracting you.
Are you hungry? Fuck. I’ll make you something if you will SAY you are hungry. Or else go to bed. Fuck. Can’t you eat Hormel canned foods? Yes, those Do Too count as eating. There are children in Africa who have no can openers or microwaves or some such you know!
Oh, you had your Work Friend over today? Fuck. The house is horrid you know? Oh… you just showed him the pond and gave him fruit. Okay. I’m glad you have work friends. Yeah, our frog rocks. I think I text people about it…
I’m going to go get a yogurt and granola thing since I haven’t eaten today, in the process, I am sure I will encounter an avalanche of bottles… Wow! I didn’t…
Dude, that frog is Awesome!!!
Yes, I will do laundry, but I am in no mood to sew a button right now. Do I really have to? I Will if I Must. But I would really rather not if you have a shirt to wear tomorrow?
Then I went to the bathroom. And I was returning to the living room at the same time that my husband had decided that his bladder needed to be emptied.
And we had that annoying moment of dancing around each other in the hallway.
He’s annoyed with the state of the house and the lack of dinner and his missing button. I’m annoyed with the button and myself and work and children in Africa.
I’m wearing a tank top, so my moist from heat and frustration, bare, hasn’t exercised in five days shoulder brushes against his. His shirtless, broad, manly shoulder.
Fuck
And at this point of frustration I wasn’t even thinking about my fervent belief that “we” were so different.
I was just thinking “fuck” and how we need to get out of the way of each other, and possibly get another bathroom.
And then he just stood there. His broad, shirtless manly self standing blocking the narrow hall.
Fuck
And then he kissed me.
And kissed me again.
And then he said “we don’t kiss often enough lately, and I really love kissing you” and kissed me again.
There in the narrow part of the hall where the furnace and the washing machine exchange notes, my husband kissed me like we were teenagers sneaking away from a foot ball game.
July 4, 2012
Because I’m Good Enough, I’m Smart Enough, And… Doggonit, People Like Me!
I was driving to work today and had an epiphany of sorts. Of rather “already been done to death” sorts. But it was new to me in that it was really the first time it had any meaning for me.
If I have poor self-esteem, if I consider myself worthless, if I consider myself ugly, if I hate myself: that is an insult to God and to my husband. They both love me. They love me just as I am. Certainly they want me to heal, but they love me even with my imperfections.
I was driving and contemplating this article. I had promised to write about the downward spiral into this abyss. Which, to be honest, confused me! It required a great deal of thought to come up with the core of the issue so that I was able to write about it.
As I had previously written, life really is not that bad! It had been at one point. There was a period of a few years that were very rough. It poured when the “issues” began raining: family issues, financial issues, employment issues, utility disconnect issues, issues galore!
But the weird part is, I wasn’t a total raging alcoholic through this. I became very depressed at points. I did have episodes of drinking myself near death, and not caring if I awoke. Life was horrible.
Though, for the most part really, I was strong and did what needed to be done, and pulled through. Not exactly like Donna Reed or anything so glamorous, but the job got done. My husband and I continued to unquestioningly love one another and God. We had bouts where we truly learned what hunger was, but we did not starve to death. We had our gas taken away, but we never froze to death. We barely were able to scrape together auto loan payments when collectors called, but we never had our vehicle repossessed.
We got by.
And now things are good. We both have jobs that, though you can always complain about your job (even if you get to be the Astronaut-Princess-Video-Game-Testing-Cookie-Taster), they are good jobs with decent wages and are generally better than just bearable. We are getting caught up, and even ahead on our finances. We love each other and God unquestioningly.
Things have been looking up for nearly a year. And it has only been in the last oh… less than six months, that I have had this daily drinking myself to near death thing going on: the raging uncontrolled alcoholism.
And while it was happening, nearly every day, I would ask myself “why?” Why am I drinking more heavily and regularly than I ever have in my life? Sure, I like the taste. But not that much. And I have really never enjoyed being drunk, I suppose that is one of my excuses for rapidly drinking past drunk to the oblivion stage. Life is good now, things are improving, why am I taking an active role in possibly killing myself every night?
I posed this question again to myself today on my drive to work. My answer: I am depressed, I hate myself, I am worthless.
In all the time that we were “getting by” some things became less important. It was more important that we got something to eat at all than that the dishes got done. It was more important that the house was heated than that it was tidy. And some days when our basic needs were not in question, we were just too depressed to put forth the effort to do anything with the house.
I live in squalor. This is no hyperbole. My house is embarrassing.
I look at my stacks and stacks of dishes covering my sink, counter, and stove, and it makes me think of what a failure I am as a wife. I feel worthless and depressed. This would lead to drinking and increased self loathing.
I have piles of miscellaneous stuff in my living room. Laundry that never got folded from months ago, old pillows that should have been thrown out, items which were purchased and never put away still in bags, it resembles a hoarder’s house. I travel the narrow paths and feel despair. This would lead to drinking and increased self loathing.
The deplorable state of my house seems so overwhelming. And I know it is of my own doing, and my responsibility to fix it. I feel worthless and I hate myself for letting it not only get to this state, but grow worse without ever getting better.
Then there are the “man’s jobs” which are also in a sorry state. I find myself getting angry with my husband over the fact that I can’t even begin to clean the kitchen because I can’t get to it through the bags of trash and empty bottles that are balanced everywhere. Any false move will send an avalanche of spent whiskey bottles and assorted cans crashing down, then I inadvertently kick them with each step, and the rage grows.
Then I hate myself for even having that moment of anger at my husband. He is surely in the same mind as myself. Not only that, but he has done a better job than I have at his designated chores. At times, when the avalanche occurs, and I suppress one of those audible yet wordless rage screams, I will somewhat jokingly say to my husband, “When this happens I have to pray really hard for Jesus to remind me how much I love you. And Jesus has better things to do than remind me how much I love you.” After this, he usually puts forth a good effort. It isn’t perfect when he is done, but there is always an obvious improvement.
I have put forth some grand efforts. Honestly I have. Yet, I haven’t made a dent. Hours of cleaning and organizing and seemingly nothing to show for it. This is very discouraging.
One day my husband had a Very Serious Talk with me. He expressed his opinion that when a wife keeps the home clean and tidy that it shows her love and respect for her husband. He felt that the way our house is now was a reflection of my lack of love and respect for him. He said this with gravity and love. It was not an accusation, and obviously something he had pondered before he spoke to me. I could tell this hurt his feelings.
Wow. I cannot express how low this makes me feel.
I do love and respect him. And I do agree that doing my duties as a good housekeeper are expressions of that love and respect.
Which fed into my depression as I wondered what the fuck was wrong with me that I was not doing this.
Depression leads to drinking and self loathing. Looking at the squalid conditions surrounding me leads to feelings of worthlessness and depression. Repeat.
I endeavor to Quit this repeating.
I am a Child of God. I am my husband’s beautiful and adoring wife. I am worthwhile. I am loved.
(Now I just need to repeat that to myself every day, several times a day, and make it stick. I know it is “true” but “believing” it will be another hurdle.)
Yeah... So, I Quit 