Love Honor and Obey

When I was four I had it all figured out. I knew all the right answers in Sunday School, I could read and I'd already jumped off the high dive. I had the world in my cute little hands. Then I my dad physically threatened my mom and I wasn't allowed to talk about it. The house grew dark and shadows filled my heart, I was terrified. We dealt with it by pretending that nothing happened and everything that I knew about the world changed. In that moment, I learned that love was a sham.

In our wedding vows we promised to love honor and obey each other, there was nothing said about honesty or truth. I did my best. I loved in the loyal sick way I had learned as a child. Honoring meant I never spoke the truth but made him look good. Obeying I did like a beaten dog, I cowered and withdrew.

We played the game I had learned when I was four. There was unbelievable violence and we smiled and looked perfect. If someone asked me about bruises, I lied.

They all knew the truth. They could see it in my cowering stance, in my tentative smile, in my diverted gaze. I remember the stray dog we found at McDonalds. She was hungry and scared of us and at the same time so needing love. She submitted and cowered and crept closer for the hamburger crust. So betrayed, so hungry, so unloved.

I went through many years as a beaten dog. I smiled, I pleased, I cowered. I wanted love so desperately that I would take the crusts and be happy to have that.

Lay Your Armour Down

My friend, David, first said this to me a few years ago. It was the first time that I realized that I was wearing armour.

Then I started thinking about the first few years of my life, my Dad was in the Air Force and stationed in Pakistan. I was just a little girl but, in a lot of ways I was the man of the house. Then my father came home from the military and my brother was born and the fighting began. I had to protect my mom from my dad. I was still the man of the house. Then my parents got divorced and we stayed with my dad and I competed to be the man of the house - just like my mom had competed with my dad. It was all competition and "better than" and judgment. I became a good jouster and it was exhausting.

It was the only game I knew so I played it in my relationships. For years, I competed until I was the man of the house. There can be only one man so, the relationships broke apart. I liked to blame it on them but, it takes two. In everything, it takes two.

Today, I am tired. I am a great jouster and I know I can "win" but, today, winning is futile. It does not give me what I want. It does not allow me to be the woman that has been hiding inside this armour all these years. Today, I choose to do it differently. Today I can be vulnerable and needy and not be weak. Today I can lay my armour down because, the armies have gone home. The war is over.

Today I can sit in my back yard and listen to the squirrels chirp and watch the geese fly over, as they honk their presence, and I can rest. I can show my fears to my friends and know that they won't attack. Today I can use my strength to show my true self, my soft underbelly, my Achilles heel and know that the people around me today are not the enemy, they are friends, they are sent by God, and they are not impressed with the armour but love what is beneath.