Transparencies, First Part

Today, I did my eye makeup to try to imitate the eyes of a character in Mass Effect 2. It's so goofy--oh trust me, I know. I think my eyes didn't turn out too bad in the end, though!

Contemplations of a Young Wife, Ninth Part

In some ways, I don't think marriage differs that much from dating. Before you married people say, "That's not true!," see what I mean:

When I first began dating, I--like many other dreamy-eyed middle school girls--had a problem with idolizing the guys I was into. My thoughts were consumed with fantasies: what would we talk about the next day, would he ask me out, where would we go if he did, would he be my first kiss?

My first "long-term relationship" was plagued by an ongoing battle between devotion to God and devotion to my boyfriend. Though I definitely loved and served God, I pushed him to the wayside, knowing deep down that my boyfriend was the one thing I would hesitate--or maybe refuse--to give up if God asked.

So, as the story goes, I learned the hard way, and the boy fell out of my life, and I fell into God's arms. That was the first step toward a new understanding of his lordship over me (not to mention everything else).

My freshman year of college, my world was rocked when I met Chris, little knowing I would marry him not very long afterward. We went through many spiritual ups and downs together during our dating and engagement, and by the time things had settled down a bit, I concluded that I had man-idolatry out of my system, and that's why God was allowed me meet Chris and have the love story I always dreamed of.

Well, I found out, it doesn't actually work that way.

Dating, engagement, marriage - these things aren't the rewards for completely arriving at the place where we never depend on our significant other to fulfill needs and give peace where only God can.

Even now, there are days I feel a strong wave of emotion: I talk to Chris, I try to get his help. Sometimes we get frustrated with each other. Sometimes we sympathize and cry together. And many times, those things were what was appropriate and needed. However, I still find myself playing the middle school game: I'm running to him, asking him to do the impossible, while Father God--our "jealous" God--desires to be my all in all and to take perfect care of me.

Women: your future/now husband cannot give you the kind of love that will emotionally fulfill you at all times and in the all the right ways. Only God loves perfectly.

Men: you cannot fix all the problems in and for your future/now wife, even if she brings them to you with that expectation. Only God "fixes" perfectly. :)

How good is our God.

the Hero's Gun

My hero pulls the gun on me
And sends a bullet to my knee-
I trusted him
I trusted him
I guess I trust too easily.

And oh, the chorus laughs at me
In mocking, harsh antistrophe-
I thought them fair
I thought them fair
I guess I think too graciously.

Contemplations of a Young Wife, Eighth Part

Marriage has shown me something very hilarious: Chris and I, both self-proclaimed English nerds, define the same words very, very differently!

Take this scene, for instance (and forgive the tense changes...or else):

I walk out of the living room in tears, feeling overwrought by loads of homework, circumstances with my family, and the idea that I'm doing an awful job of taking care of my poor, mono-struck husband.

Two minutes earlier, I had given a stirring speech about the unsearchable depths of my stress. Obviously, since Chris must be able to read my mind, I was sure he knew I wanted only to be heard, and perhaps hugged.

Being the helpful man he is, Chris had offered some perspective: the homework was not nearly as bad as I was making it out to be, and if I just started on it, I would be finished more quickly than I ever expected.

Which brought me to a sudden flare of anger and frustration, which brings me to the tears.

Plopping down on our pale blue comforter, I huff loudly while spreading out books from various classes in a semicircle around me. My poor, mono-struck husband comes in to try to comfort me, but by this time, I won't have any of it. I bury my nose in my books and act pouty and stubborn until a good hour later, when I decide that needless conflict with my husband really kinda sucks.

I peek my head out the door, walk to the maroon armchair where Chris sits, and settle myself onto the floor beside him. After I offer a sincere apology, we begin to inspect the string of misunderstandings that caused our whole conversation to unravel.

I had said that I was "stressed." By that, I also meant "overwhelmed." Chris informed me that he can be "stressed" without being "overwhelmed," and he had been trying to keep me from spiraling from one to the other. When I told him that I was stressed about homework, he figured that it was low-level disconcertment he could quickly talk me out of, rather than a deluge of despair I merely wanted to be rescued from, if only for a moment.

Hyperbolic? Me? Whatevs. In any case, this situation has come up before with the words "disagreement" and "fight," as well as "upset" and "mad." The miscommunications are funny in retrospect, but certainly not at the moment they arise.

This will probably happen to you at some point, dear reader. The end.

P.S. Agh! I keep batting a dumb little gnat away from my head. They are living in our houseplant. Isn't that fascinating?

Kids, don't do this at home. Seriously.

Another incident proving the grace and goodness of God:

I left my keys in the lock last night, all night. I'm grateful nothing happened.

Another incident proving the power of words:

Goodbyes, no matter how "inconsequential," should never be made in anger or frustration, without a sincere, "I love you." A shoutout in the presence of the blogospherians to the keeper of my heart: Christopher Krycho, I love you!

In conclusion, leaving keys and leaving angry are pains that I be-leave we must a-leave-iate. I'll leave you with that.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It was wide open, and I had to do it!
But, dear reader, if you had an inkling of the extent of my weirdness, this probably didn't catch you off guard.

Stay hopeful!
-Jaimie

Losing Control Never Looked So Good

If there's a specific moment where you give your life up, I haven't put my finger on it, yet.

The concept of "Losing your life" is amorphous, yet I can almost reach out and touch it. The moment you realize that nothing you do for yourself matters is the same moment you realize, as in Hannah Hurnard's Hinds' Feet on High Places, that it is "happy to love." After you surrender, you know that there will be more joy and satisfaction in your life than you've ever known, and that it will just keep growing.

It hardly makes sense! If you lose everything that gives you control, or maybe just orients you in reality as you know it to be, what comes afterward? What specifically brings the joy and satisfaction? It's like flinging yourself off a cliff only to land on a precipice. You do the appointed task there, and then jump off again.

You know, I've never been much of a thrill seeker, but it would be the greatest honor to be given the power to finally jump.

I don't think it is a lighting bolt moment...simply the end of one process, and the beginning of a new one.

That, dear reader, is pretty exciting.