Love doesn't always feel good.
Allen and I celebrated our 1 year anniversary ten days early, because we're both too busy next weekend. We started Friday, with Mothership organic beer (which is a fantastic must-try) biscuits and gravy (they make vegetarian gravy now, so I was safe), puzzles, and an attempt at homemade crème brulèe. I say attempted, because I realized halfway through I didn't have a torch for the crispy top, which in my opinion, is a necessity. Either way, it's good, but so rich you can only have three bites a day, otherwise you feel like Violet Beauregarde.
Yesterday we got up early to make the 9:05 am train to Chicago, to go to a film festival being held at the Gene Siskel Film Center. The film(s) we were planning on seeing didn't start 3pm, but we wanted to get a head start to take some photos, grab lunch and have tea at Argo, maybe bum around a few shops beforehand.
Of course, most of that never happened.
Regrettably, I am quick to anger. It's not something I'm proud of, but it is a huge hitch in this whole "being a Christian" thing. And while both Allen and I woke up on time, we did not make it to our train due to our differences in interpretation of the phrase "on time."
Allen's "On Time": Leave with the exact amount of time it takes for you to walk in at scheduled time.
My "On Time": Leave with a 30 minute cushion for Murphy's Law, an hour if it's a stressful situation, i.e. job interviews, meetings with profs, family functions, etc.
We left for Allen's "On Time." We arrived at the station, unsure of parking or layout, with five minutes to spare. Bolting up the stairs, I realized we parked in a "Residents Only" space. Allen sprinted to the car, and I waited on the other side of the tracks. Five minutes later, he returned. "You have my wallet." He grabbed it and laughed, sprinting back to move the car and pay for our space. As he did so, the train arrived. I called him.
Me: "Allen, the train's here. You need to run under the bridge and get to my side."
Allen and I celebrated our 1 year anniversary ten days early, because we're both too busy next weekend. We started Friday, with Mothership organic beer (which is a fantastic must-try) biscuits and gravy (they make vegetarian gravy now, so I was safe), puzzles, and an attempt at homemade crème brulèe. I say attempted, because I realized halfway through I didn't have a torch for the crispy top, which in my opinion, is a necessity. Either way, it's good, but so rich you can only have three bites a day, otherwise you feel like Violet Beauregarde.
Yesterday we got up early to make the 9:05 am train to Chicago, to go to a film festival being held at the Gene Siskel Film Center. The film(s) we were planning on seeing didn't start 3pm, but we wanted to get a head start to take some photos, grab lunch and have tea at Argo, maybe bum around a few shops beforehand.
Of course, most of that never happened.
Regrettably, I am quick to anger. It's not something I'm proud of, but it is a huge hitch in this whole "being a Christian" thing. And while both Allen and I woke up on time, we did not make it to our train due to our differences in interpretation of the phrase "on time."
Allen's "On Time": Leave with the exact amount of time it takes for you to walk in at scheduled time.
My "On Time": Leave with a 30 minute cushion for Murphy's Law, an hour if it's a stressful situation, i.e. job interviews, meetings with profs, family functions, etc.
We left for Allen's "On Time." We arrived at the station, unsure of parking or layout, with five minutes to spare. Bolting up the stairs, I realized we parked in a "Residents Only" space. Allen sprinted to the car, and I waited on the other side of the tracks. Five minutes later, he returned. "You have my wallet." He grabbed it and laughed, sprinting back to move the car and pay for our space. As he did so, the train arrived. I called him.
Me: "Allen, the train's here. You need to run under the bridge and get to my side."
Allen: "Wait, what?" (sprinting sounds) "I'm coming as fast as I can."
Me: "A man next to me said to tie my shoe to stall them. Please hurry."
Conductor: "Whoever you're waiting for better hurry up...we got a schedule to keep."
Me: "Allen, they're going to leave. Please hurry."
Allen: (Click.)
Conductor: (Impatient look.)
Me: Frustrated noise. "Go. Just...go."
Train leaves.
Allen was on the other side of the train. I exploded. "Why can't we...ever...be on *cussing* time?! Why?!" I stormed off, knowing my rage was unwarranted and I was a loose cannon. There were witnesses, of course, as any good tantrum requires.
Time, for whatever reason, is infinitely important to me. Waste mine, and you're a thorn in my side. Poor Allen was mine from the moment the train left.
He didn't catch me until I made it back to the car. We sat there, in thick silence, as I closed myself off and he hypothesized what he could have done better. Allen makes the best of things, and I critique the worst of them. It's how I knew I should date him; other guys I dated were just as pessimistic and hyper-critical as I was. Past relationships were destructive from the inside and out. Allen sparred me without fighting. He lets me rampage until I run out. And it's what he was doing this time, and it was driving me nuts.
Eventually, of course, I did chill out, and we found a hometown diner to sit at and wait for the next train. We talked out the morning, I apologized, after some coffee, and became determined to have a restart. "Well, at least we got our one mess up for the day complete."
Wrong. Dead wrong.
Several forgotten ids, overdrawn accounts, and missed appointments later, we came back home, hungry, tired, and defeated.
He and I both knew regardless of the frustrations of the day, they revealed a great number of things we had never noticed about our relationship that we had let slide, and much to our unaware detriment.
For example, we stopped communicating spiritually. We had had basic, "How was your day?" "What's going on at seminary/Judson?" "What did you think of the sermon?" conversations, but we had failed at asking the intentional question of "How is your soul doing today?" When we got to it, it was like I was meeting Allen all over again.
It opened up a lot of old wounds we thought we'd settled, because, believe it or not, couples argue, even the good ones. There were tears and more yelling (on my part) and hard truths being pulled out that both of us thought we buried well within ourselves. God was working and it was a bitch.
Somehow, after a lot of hugging, prayer, and grace (on Allen's part) we came out determined to work and grow. This was hard for me to wrap my mind around, at first, because I had become so used to huge moments like this ending in a break up. Instead, it ended in us attempting to eat the rest of our homemade cème brulèe, realizing without a crispy top, it hardly seems finished.
And so goes our relationship. Unfinished, but still sweet enough to make you puke.
Much like this ending.
Where do you see God working?
In my pride and anger, slowly drawing it out like poison.
What do you hear God saying?
"I still love you. But this will hurt."
How do you see God working?
By prompting Allen to tell me when I'm getting out of hand.
And so goes our relationship. Unfinished, but still sweet enough to make you puke.
Much like this ending.
Where do you see God working?
In my pride and anger, slowly drawing it out like poison.
What do you hear God saying?
"I still love you. But this will hurt."
How do you see God working?
By prompting Allen to tell me when I'm getting out of hand.
