Tag: Marriage

Breakfast & the Battlefield

On By SimonneBraden2 Comments

“C’mon were going out to breakfast,” Phoebe said. It was the last day I was staying with her family in the middle of nowhere central Illinois.

“But the kids, Alex?”

Phoebe shook her head and waved her hand. “They’ll be fine.”

We drove into town and ended up at an old haunt, a mom and pop diner. I had totally forgot this place exsisted. Phoebe was still reconstructing her life, as her and Alex’s legal separation ended. The bump Phoebe sported was proof their seperation wasn’t as seperate as the legal papers say they were. It was unplanned, but Phoebe and her prophetic gift knew this was in the cards years ago. 

“I hope I’m making the right decision by letting him come back. He’s changed, he’s good to me, the kids, he’s making amends, but I worry he’ll cheat again,” her voice trailed off as she gazed longingly at my mimosa.

I made the wrong decision by ordering huervos rancheros in a small farming town restaurant run by white people: it was an uncooked flour tortilla with scrambled eggs topped with tomato sauce. I was jealous of Phoebe’s breakfast of eggs, toast, and hashbrowns and her ability of getting pregnant with birth control.

“You have to go by the fruit they produce, but nothing is ever guaranteed,” I said. She knew I was fully supportive of her decision, to stay or go. If I were her, I’d have left and not looked back, but it was not for me to decide.

“How did we get here, Simonne? Why is marriage so damn hard?”

The weight of her words hit me like a sack of flour dropped out of the sky. I thought about my own heart wrenching struggles in my marriage and how it changed me and ultimately us. I thought about my friend who divorced a parasitic narcissist with an abusive streak a mile wide dressed up as a good Christian man. I thought of my other friend who appears to have the perfect marriage from my distant view, wondering if they found the secret that has elduded us, or if they’re as effed as we are and hide it better with their megakilowatt smiles.

“No one said it would be this hard,” I said barely above a whisper. “Problems, sure, thats life. But this – all this – why had no one warned us?”

“I don’t know, someone should have said something. I just never knew it would be this hard.”

I scoffed at those empty platitudes we shove on brides to be: never go to bed angry, laugh together everyday, put Jesus in the center and everything will be fine. Sometimes going to bed angry is better than having the same arugument an octive higher and an hour later. There are times when laughing is on the list below cleaning the grout in the kitchen after a long and tiring day: not happening. Jesus said He would be with us, not that bad times would be avoided by obedience and prayer. I doubt the second time Paul was shipwrecked, did he think, “Wow I must really be doing something wrong.” America with her prosperity gospel of smooth sailing and happy clappy Christians: gag me with a place setting.

Yet here we were.

We ate in silence. We both were fighters, women who followed after Jesus, and loved our husbands. We ate like we were gearing up for battle.

As we left the restaurant and headed back to the house, I reflected how on how Alex’s adultery changed Phoebe: she became less dependent on Alex and more dependent on God. Old Phoebe would have fretted over the kids and Alex for breakfast, but now she left him to be a father. Maybe something good came out of this mess.

I recently learned they’re moving to the east coast and will be within driving distance from me. They’ve decided to hit the reset button on their marriage by moving away from the cataclysmic damage. I’m excited to see where the Lord leads them in this new season.

And my heart is so full that I have a another Christian soldier so close to my heart and my city once again.

July in Review

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July highlighted my brown thumb tendencies, as well as the noxious weeds that seemed to pop up in my marriage.

Plant wise, I did well. I kept my ajuga transplants watered and so far they’re still green. I transplanted an upset, poorly placed gardinia, but it hasn’t quite decided to live or die yet. Nonetheless it has been given ample amounts of water and soil.

Having a smaller house with less to manage has improved life in other areas, namely the garden. I’m more inclined to walk outside to check on things than my old house. There was so much surface area to clean, walk through, and maintain. My next feat is to get the yard landscaped. But first, gutters!

As for the marriage bit, things got better as the month progressed. At first, even after a good day, we were arguing. Sometimes I think he just likes to pick fights. His love language is words of affirmation, perhaps more acutely so, which probably exacerbated an already flammable situation. Every time I think the worst is over, we hit another rough patch. It’s almost like clockwork. I really hope we have turned a corner; I think the vacation helped. We never used to be so ugly to each other. I must learn to respond by standing up for myself and not defaulting to complacency when he’s in my face telling me to go….well….you can fill in the blank.

As with growing plants and marriage, time tells all.

And fertilize/mulch as required.

The Chapel of Love

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The one thing I love most about my church is how random it is. It is a gathering of a bunch of misfits for Christ, and with the Holy Spirit blowing through, you never quite know what’s going to happen next.

Sometimes I feel bad for people who attend “normal” services with a dress codes and decorum; the ones who take a sanitized mission trip for 2 days out of the year with the youth. Or the ones that have Sunday School which covers safe biblical topics and the correct answer is always Jesus. It’s the churches who build giant buildings and with theatrical lighting and sound systems which rival that of my college: I want none of that, it’s not part of the gospel. Life is messy and they’re missing out on the “get your hands dirty” message Jesus preached of relationships with others. Our church does a lot of crazy, unconventional things in the name of Jesus and I could not be more proud.

Case and point: Sunday morning.

At the beginning of the service, our pastor announced there was going to be a wedding afterwards and to stick around for it. It was for a couple who had done pre-marital counseling with our pastor. They were in their mid-40’s or so, and while they weren’t homeless, they lived far below the poverty level. The wedding was scheduled to take place several weeks ago, but it kept getting delayed for unknown reasons. Today was the day. We meet in a small room, so you always see what’s going on: the bride walked out of the bathroom in a big white wedding dress that looked like it popped out of the early 1990’s.

I should also mention this was during the sermon.

This wasn’t a typical bride: her hair was down, unstyled, unwashed, with no make up. She wore a Dollar Store-esque tiara on her head and her dress wasn’t ironed. There was a stain on the back bow – and her dress wasn’t zipped up all the way.I was hoping someone else was helping her and maybe she was just waiting to zip it so she could breathe.  She passed by me a couple of times, as I was near the back. Finally, once I realized she didn’t have help, I jumped up and asked if she needed help zipping her dress. “The zipper won’t go up anymore,” she whispered. “Let’s try,” I said, as I pulled the dress together and tried with all my might to zip it. The dress was too small for her rib cage, but I didn’t give up until I took the skin off my index finger, attempting to make that zipper move.

The sermon was still going on, by the way. I’m sure we were quite the spectacle.

Nobody had a safety pin, as another lady sent out a text to the ladies in the congregation (I learned this later).  I tucked in the sides of her dress that were unzipped so the back of it looked like a V. Later, her train was in the way while we walked up for communion, so another woman and I tried to figure out her bustle situation.

Yes, this was in the line for communion. We totally held it up.

We found the loops she could put over her fingers and we carried on, and she thanked me for my help. Moments later, the bridal couple walked up to the alter and exchanged vows and rings. I captured a few pictures on my phone.

I’ve never met this woman. I’m as shy as they come and I’m usually the one hiding under my chair when the pastor tells everyone to stand up and shake hands with everyone. But there was something about this bride that made my heart leap out to her. Most wedding days are stressful, long-planned out events and everything has to be just so – surrounded by family and friends. This was not the case at all here. I counted 2 friends and no family. It was all so random. And beautiful. A husband a wife started the long journey of marriage today.

That’s what I love about my church – there’s so much room for the Holy Spirit – sometimes you’re a walk-on bridesmaid for a stranger. Those without homes are welcomed with open arms, complete with coffee and breakfast. White, black, or a combination thereof walk through our doors.  There’s always someone there to one-up me on the awkward/weirdness scale. This is what Jesus calls us to do: to come along side others, especially those who are less fortunate, and go through life side by side as equals, as friends.

I didn’t get a chance to congratulate the newlyweds. The bride disappeared back into the bathroom again after the ceremony and I had along list of Christmas shopping to finish, as the family Christmas party is next weekend. As I left, the pastor thanked me for helping the bride.

I’m still giggling about it. It’s absolutely nuts! Never in a millions years did I expect to be a bridesmaid at church for someone I never met! But that’s exactly how the Lord works!

I am so proud to be His daughter and am looking forward to the next adventure with the Holy Spirit.

And here’s to the new Mr. & Mrs! May their marriage honor the Lord and may their union be strengthened with each passing year!

All that’s left is a band of gold

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Last time I visited my childhood home, my mom set out several jewelry pieces from my grandmother she wanted me to have.  A simple gold wedding band was among them.  It appeared slightly weathered, but it fit my finger as though it was custom made for me.  There was an inscription inside: “RE to GA Dec 29 – 1910.”  I knew right away who it belonged to: RE was my great-grandfather, GA was my great-grandmother.

They were married on a Thursday, like me.  I don’t know how they met or what their relationship story was.  I have pictures of them with beautiful smiling faces, they look so happy together.  I have pictures of her with the ring.  It’s hard to make out, but I can see it.  This union produced one of my all-time favorite people: my grandmother.

If only that ring could speak!

I’m sure it’d tell me of the giddiness of January 1911, every time she glanced at her left hand: I’m married!  Women didn’t have many rights back then, marriage was a step-up for her.  Despite the typically scripted quiet and obedient wife of the time, my great-grandmother was kind, sweet, and quite the firecracker.  She was fierce as much as she was loving.

I wonder if the ring stayed on her finger during her pregnancies, or if the swelling became too much and it was left in the drawer.  I wonder too, what the ring would say to the arguments the neighbors undoubtedly heard: my great-grandfather was a drunk, especially during Prohibition (our family never was one for timing….).  When he was sober, he was a quiet, kind man.  When he was drunk, he would chase my great-grandmother around the kitchen table with a butcher knife, transforming into a monster.  I bet that ring felt awfully heavy in those moments.

It was common in such events, when he was drunk and violent, that my great-grandmother would lock herself and the three girls in the bedroom until he passed out.  Then they would board a streetcar and go to her mother’s house, even in the dead of a cold Detroit winter night.  I wonder if she absentmindedly fidgeted with the ring, as she stared off into space on the streetcar; fighting tears, trying to be strong for her girls, and figuring out her next move.  I wonder if she took off the ring for a time, carefully considering if she’d put it on again.

Nearly 17 years after the band of gold was placed on her left ring finger, she filed for divorce and it was granted.  She was kicked out of her church because of the divorce.  My great-grandmother took things into her own hands by working the assembly line at Dodge to provide for her daughters, despite the small alimony check; she was a welder.  The family lived with her widowed mother.

She had a handy man come to the house to do some odd jobs; they fell in love and married.  This man (my great-stepgrandfather!) was a WWI veteran and beautiful soul who was always smiling.  They stayed happily together until she died in the early 1960’s.

I wonder where the ring spent all those years.

And now it has come me.  I wear it on  my right hand.  It’s a perfect everyday ring, as I don’t have to worry about losing heirloom diamonds at work.  It’s sturdy, and in the quiet moments of work I find myself staring at the inscription.

The three girls from this marriage all died old women.  Their children are senior citizens.  These people are lost to time, only existing in stories and the random documents I’m able to unearth.

And all that remains is this ring of gold, to mark a family united and torn apart. It is a link of my ancestral past, which will always be near and dear to me.