I thought I'd share with you all an experience I had last night. It was a Thursday and as we all know, that's my husband's day off (doesn't everyone know that?). We worked on stripping and standing a table that my grandmother and grandfather started house with in 1950. We bought a rug for the living room floor and generally had a great day together.
We also knew that we had to go to the funeral of a family in our church's mother/grandmother. We try to be careful about doing too much "ministry" stuff on our day off, but both kids are in our youth group and, well, this is just different. We both knew we should go.
On the way back from getting the rug, my husband mentioned that he'd love to take me out for dessert after the funeral at a nice restaurant (we have a gift certificate! yea!). I was very excited about this. And having been raised a pastor's daughter and now married to one, I can very easily switch from funeral mode to dessert mode. Call it a spiritual gift.
Well, let me tell you, things did not go as planned. I didn't get to show my awesomeness of switching from one genre to the next seamlessly, as I had so hoped to do. Why? Because the funeral lasted for almost four hours. Four. Not forty minutes. Four hours. Needless to say we weren't expecting this and even my husband was getting a little weary sitting in the wooden-backed pews at the catholic church (we have blue cushy chairs in our sanctuary/multipurpose room).
About two hours in I leaned over and asked him what he thought about us staying. Translation: "I'm ready to go." We tried to say as little as possible as we whispered back and forth. It's not really kosher to have a huge conversation at a funeral. Long story short, he decided it'd be more loving to stay til the end and say hello to them.
Stay til the end. Great. He's picking them over me. And how awesome do I sound if I say, "No, I'd rather not shake the hands of a grieving family and minister Christ's love to them. I would rather go out and get something sugary and fattening to eat, please." Jerk City, here I come! But I didn't think we had to stay. It was the largest funeral I had ever been to and these people have so much family it's unbelievable. I didn't think we'd even be noticed, much less missed.
But my husband had made his decision and I had to submit to that. Submit.
Now I should explain that I am a first born, extremely strong willed person. I have always made good decisions for myself and have always done quite well as I sailed life's waters. So getting married has been wonderful and tough all at the same time. I submit because I have the Holy Spirit and He prompts me to and sustains me through it. But I can tell you it's not something that comes easy. And it's definitely not something I enjoy. In fact sometimes I get downright cheezed off.
That's right, cheezed off.
After the funeral, we skipped the refreshment line, hugged and chatted with the family. Looking back, I'm glad we did. But on the way home my husband began asking me all sorts of questions about my thoughts on the cultural differences on that funeral compared with others (it was a Nisgaa BC First Nations funeral). I finally had to say, "Not to be rude, but I'm not interested in talking right now. A few minutes of quiet would be helpful for me." And so the following hour as we got home and cleaned house for guests we will have this weekend was observed in silence, much like the previous four hours at the funeral, save for the occasional hymn.
But, honey, I wasn't singing any hymns as I clean my house last night. I should say, "as we cleaned our house". My clams had been thoroughly steamed and I wanted him to know I wasn't okay.
I never yell, throw things, say manipulative things or rant. I am a silent stone-wall turtle. But I usually soften, especially to my sweet husband.
We did end up talking about things and I saw things from his perspective and he saw things from mine. He was trying to do what he felt was the most loving. And we had just spent most of the day together and we didn't need to go out to the restaurant. Deep down in my heart, I know that if we did need that, we would have stood up between a hymn and a wreath laying and snuck out the back of the church.
Yes, I was frustrated, but I am so glad my husband did what he thought was right and loving, even if I wasn't too happy as a result of it. It doesn't happen all that often. And 95% of the time, he does what I suggest anyway.
I'm learning that it's better for our marriage, our church and our family (and safer for me) that my husband does what is right than just doing what he thinks will make others the most happy. Happiness is so short-term. But doing what is good and right and loving lasts far, far longer.
We went to sleep reconciled and happier. I'm still a little sad about missing out on a fun date, but that's okay. And I woke up praying for the bereaved family this morning. I'm glad God's working in my heart.
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