The Things We Don’t Talk About: Marital Fidelity

WARNING:  this post may not be for you.  But if you’re in an overall healthy marriage, and you’re “married but not blind,” then this is for you.  And it’s for me, too.

 

 

First, I just want to say what we don’t say:  fidelity isn’t a given.  Maybe you like me have felt that scary, alluring feeling.

You know there’s something to be said for a solid, sustainable marriage like yours.  Dating days now past, you’ve settled down to a sense of security and warm fuzzies, and you’re a balanced, productive human being again.  But do you sometimes miss the days when you were all hormones and obsession?  It’s been seven years since Sean and I lived like single people, eyeing everyone as a possibility.  Seven years, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that long.  It can be a tough transition from eyeing everybody to eyeing nobody.  That single mentality doesn’t vanish as quickly as we’d like.

Are you like me?  I have a tall, dark, and handsome husband who is the very definition of adventure.  We have an easy, playful friendship, we parent well together, and truly, I have no complaints worth mentioning.  I love and admire him, trust him and respect him, and will never stop.  And when I watch him from across a crowded room, I can feel that I still have a humongous crush on him.

But even being blessed with an excellent man and all kinds of desire for him, I still find fidelity isn’t automatic.  And I had a bit too much romance-as-drug in my past, which makes it even harder.  I have to stay on guard against the temptations of someone other, some fresh romance, someone new thinking I’m the stuff.

I’m willing to bet that if you’ve had a ring on your finger for more than a month, you’ve felt this feeling, too.  The temptation comes in all forms.  Maybe you haven’t set the right boundaries with a coworker, or with guy friends you’ve kept from your single days.  Maybe you’ve used social media search bars to find out all about whoever you used to date, or maybe you can’t get enough of The Bachelor.  We’re talking about the same root temptation here, just different flavors of it.

The other night I actually had the house to myself – no Sean, no babies – and I was sinking into a bubble bath, eating chocolate, and searching for a romantic comedy on Netflix (yes, all those embarrassingly cliche girly things).  And you know what?  I literally could not find a romantic comedy to watch that didn’t feature a dissatisfied married person hooking up with a beautiful stranger.  I mean, we expect that in a romantic comedy someone will leave one relationship for another…but they’ve really taken it up a notch.  This isn’t the same as the protagonist outgrowing the boyfriend she’s had since high school.  These are much higher stakes!  But I wonder if the filmmakers know more about the average wife’s longings than we’d want to admit?  This gives me shivers.

 

To be clear:  no, I’m not meeting men at the bar and letting them take me home.  But this gateway stuff, “harmless” flirting or meditating on who or what we don’t have, is also wrong and detrimental to your marriage commitment and mine.  Staying sober takes work, and intentionality.  On the off chance you can relate to what I’m saying (because I believe it’s really a pretty good chance), I want to share my five favorite ways to beat this temptation.  These are the points I preach to myself on a regular basis:  

First, and possibly the biggest philosophy-shifter here:  I focus on serving my spouse, not on getting all my selfish wants.  This goes a long way.  It’s pretty doubtful that I’ll run away with someone else – or even entertain the idea – in order to best serve my husband.  I think in our selfishness, we’ve gotten love all wrong.  So I work to replace longing thoughts with thoughts of taking the best possible care of Sean.  

I sometimes struggle to ignore beautiful strangers.  But that beautiful stranger walking past me – though I assume he’s a real person underneath, with a SSN and dorky elementary school photos archived somewhere – is really just a concept.  You know, embodied adventure or warmth or affirmation or hedonism or whatever I’m feeling at the moment.  That riveting sense of possibility is only a daydream, while our spouses are tangible and needing us to be as good to them as we’d like them to be to us.

Second, I remember this fact (one that we all know but may need to be reminded of, especially if we’ve gone too far):  even an affair would eventually become a comfortable relationship that doesn’t thrill you the same way anymore.  Don’t set yourself up to live like an addict.  It’ll never be enough, and you will have lost everything for only a short-lived high.

Third, I treat the appealing person like I’d treat anybody else.  He doesn’t deserve to know how I’m feeling.  Besides, each time I treat him with interest, I’m inviting him to do the same, and the problem grows.  Treating him like he’s nothing special takes discipline, but it sure does work.

Fourth, I prune whatever feeds this desire.  Listen to any three radio songs in a row, and I think you’ll find that our musicians (and we, in turn) are at all times heartbroken, lovesick, or wishing we were.  We eat this stuff for breakfast, but it can be such garbage!  Quit the tortured-love playlists or whatever other habits are sending your mind in an unhealthy direction.  Omit the tempting man from  your life if at all possible.  Walk another route to the break room, go to lunch at a different cafe where the servers don’t flirt with married women – do whatever you need to do!  These changes can feel extreme, but they’re not.  You’re guarding something pretty darn precious.

Fifth, I pray.  Sometimes I feel weak in the face of the romanticism that would like to draw me into an affair.  Sometimes I feel nervous I’ll fall prey to something like this before I can stop it.  The ultimate safety net here is prayer.  The Holy Spirit is so good at making us feel uneasy when we’re toeing the line of what’s appropriate.  Pray, and then feel for his cues.

 

Sean and I talked about these things while driving one day (all our memorable conversations have happened in a moving vehicle!).  This was one of many conversations we’ve had about temptation and fidelity.  But this time, like a true double standard, I was uncomfortable hearing that he ever recognized any woman besides me as being attractive.  I tried to get him to assure me that in his eyes, I was the coolest and prettiest girl ever, period.  I felt sure if he could promise me that, I’d never have to feel threatened by other women.  

But he wouldn’t promise me I was the coolest or the prettiest…because for him, that wasn’t the bottom line.  He emphasized this to me:

“Rachel, I’ll never get close enough to someone else to know if they’re cooler than you.  I’m not going to do it.  It’s just never worth it.  Cheating on your spouse will ruin your marriage, your family, your kids, your home, the entire life you’ve built.  It’ll never be worth it.  It’s that simple.”

That wasn’t the sappy answer I was looking for, but I knew he was right, and his response made me feel secure.  He was right.  It is that simple.  And he is quite a gift to me!

Sometimes love looks like vigilance.

 

 

One more thing:  if you want to discuss this more or encourage each other in this area, my door – and my inbox – are always open!

You’re Alright, Martha

My best friend is a Mary, and I’m a Martha. We talk like this all the time:

“I’ve been so extremely Martha the past couple of days, I’m starting to burn out. I need a nap!”

Or “You should meet this friend of mine. She’s from D.C., and she’s very much a Mary.”

Or “Your Martha-ness is so good for me.”

“Well your Mary-ness is good for me!”

What am I talking about? Remember the two sisters who knew Jesus in the flesh? For the one named Mary, it was natural for her to plop down and do nothing but listen and absorb who Jesus was. Meanwhile it was natural for her sister Martha to be a whirlwind in the kitchen, creating something awesome for Jesus and his fellow travelers.

Both sound commendable, right? Yet here’s what’s stabbing to me and to task-oriented people everywhere (men can be Marthas, too): Jesus didn’t commend Martha. He told her that Mary was making better use of that moment.

The Marys I know journal their spiritual lives. When they get alone and away from it all, they immediately turn to soaking up Jesus. They’re just better at – bent toward – sitting still and sitting long with the Lord. They’re more easily spiritual. Their houses are dirty, yes, but who cares? They know God. They know Him deep, deep, deep.

In recent moments when I’ve felt angsty about not knowing God the way that I’d like to, I’ve bemoaned being created a Martha. I mean, really, how is it fair? In my mind, if a Mary and a Martha were given the same number of years on earth, the same hard stuff and the same good stuff, the Mary would turn out more intimate with the Lord. It’s her nature. It’s not Martha’s.

Why was she given an edge?

Why can’t I know Him, or why does chasing God have to be a chore on my to-do list?

I’ll never catch up. I might as well just sit down. At my craft table, to finish my multiple projects.

God saw the lies I was swallowing up and reminded me that yes, I was created – Hello! Created! – this way on purpose. Because cultivating intimacy is beautiful and still important for all of us, but someone has to get things done sometimes.

I’m restless. I need to be busy. I go OUT OF MY MIND when I’m not. God knows this, and I think He’s sympathetic towards it. And I’m guessing He might not require me to find Him the way the Marys do.

There are times, no doubt, when I throw myself into my to-do list, and right away sense Him telling me to stop and choose the better thing. Sometimes I will have to actually stop (and even sit on my hands if I must) in order to hear all of what He has to say. I’m not exempt from this. And if this won’t happen without it appearing on my to-do list, so be it. Friends and family go on the list all the time. For a Martha, that’s realistic. So yes, to know Him the way the Marys seem to know Him, I have to find a way to be still.

But I think God is reassuring me that He knows how to use my restlessness, my sometimes ridiculous productivity. I’m in the thick of a writing project right now, and I believe that working at it is devotion. I’m telling a handful of people’s stories of how God was active in their lives this time last year. They’re real stories that fed my faith when I heard them, and I feel like other people need to hear them, too. You can see why penning these feels like devotion, and why it doesn’t always have to be a preformatted Time Spent with the Lord.

I’ve known for a while, too, that I feel closest to God when I’m serving people. I mean serving people more than what naturally happens in my selfishly motivated daily life. When it inconveniences me, and when I scrub someone else’s counters instead of scrubbing my own to meet my needs, then my relationship to God is right and healthy. This is an enormous relief, you know? God is pleased for me to channel that restlessness into good works. And when that’s quiet work with my hands, my mind is freed up to think lovely thoughts about Him.

You’re alright, Martha. You’re not inferior! We need you. You’re the motion of the Kingdom.

A Real-Life, Looking-for-God Story

Soon after we were married, my husband and I did something that showed the very high level of maturity we’d reached. We disassembled the old trampoline that was going to waste at my parents’ house, so that we could drive it a few hours to our home and reassemble it there. And we weren’t close to having kids at that point – we just wanted to enjoy the trampoline ourselves. Once we got it home and put it together, Sean and I had a few disagreements about the proper placement of a trampoline – I stood firm that the front yard was a tacky spot, so he dragged it to the backyard to please me.

The old (possibly too old, and possibly needing all its parts replaced) trampoline got its life back in our care. On it we did acrobatics and played made-up games, and I got hurt nearly every time my husband and I tried to play together. That was inevitable, since I was up against double-my-weight bounces. You won’t be surprised then when I tell you that I really loved just having the trampoline to myself. It was perfect for lounging outdoors, napping, reading, and looking up into the trees. (Actually, whenever I need to convince my body to relax, I don’t go to Aruba or to the spa in my mind. I imagine being on the trampoline on a warm day.) (I seriously do.)

One day I retreated to the trampoline, and there I begged the Lord to let me see miraculous things, like what He’d let friends of mine see. I pleaded, “At least tell me something.” Then I tried to quit talking so that I could listen. I looked up at the tall trees around our yard (where we had seven acres of an old, established property, with old, established trees). Well? What now? Would He talk? I was anxious. Afraid, I guess, that I could never be part of the club that gets to see and hear God, and has hard evidence of Him living not in dusty, ancient times with people wearing robes, but now.

While I squirmed and waited for God to make a move, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before. It was almost spring then – warm enough to sit outside, but the trees were still bare like winter. And with no leaves hiding them, I could see hundreds of birds’ nests in the trees above. Hundreds. So many! Mostly abandoned and still hanging on, I guessed, with some fresh ones mixed in. How had I missed this wonder until now? I looked from tree to tree for a while in awe, always finding more nests now that I was really looking.

I was so struck by this that I wondered if it meant something. Maybe…maybe God was going to point me to something through birds’ nests. I hopped off the trampoline and went inside.

Some of the most honest Christians I know admit that while they often try to hear and interpret God’s voice, they still sometimes get it wrong, or get it mixed up with their own thoughts. But it’s still worth the try, because sometimes they hear from Him or see Him do something, and there’s no denying it. I thought of them and took a chance. I Googled “bird’s nest” and learned some basic science of when and how they’re made. I even watched a time-lapse video of a bird making dozens of trips, bringing a string, a twig, a leaf, another twig, rearranging it all, and somehow winding up with a well-woven nest at the end.

Nothing mind-blowing happened.

There was no big revelation. No blinding God light, and no story to shout from the roof. Well, I’d given it a noble try, but I still had that feeling wringing my heart, wanting so badly for God to interact with me.

Two months passed. Then an undeniable pattern turned up in the passages I was reading in the Bible. There were a few passages that I’d wound up reading in the same week, each teaching me its own big lesson, lessons I was needing that week and will need still for decades, because they’re the lifelong kind. And the pattern looked like these, with a swatch of birds in each chapter:

“Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young…” (Psalm 84 – What it looks like to crave Him)

“Look at the birds of the air…” (Matthew 6 – He provides)

“The trees of the Lord are watered abundantly…in them the birds build their nests…” (Psalm 104 – He sustains everything)

In case this could be called coincidence, I noticed then too that the book that had just taught me to obey God in being thankful – so that I could see life’s beauty and credit it to Him – has a photograph of a bird’s nest for its cover.

I was smiling. And immediately I was documenting it, this moment that God had said something like, I did hear you from the trampoline. I am talking to you. Years ago Sean convinced me that if we aren’t documenting God, we’ll forget we ever saw Him, or heard Him. I have some great moments recorded from the times when I was diligent to write them, and I promise they’d be forgotten otherwise.

God knew the birds’ nests hiding in our trees stunned me; He knew He could get my attention if He showed me the nests again. Why did two months go by between the trampoline and this? I don’t know. For anticipation, for dramatic effect? Does God appreciate those things? I’d guess so.

To affirm it for me again, just one more time, two nests dropped right outside my kitchen window. And they were fascinating up close, too.

In a sense, it’s always a guess, since it’s always faith. But we’re likely to hear nothing, and see nothing if we don’t expect Him.

One thing I know: when I’m expecting Him, that’s when the stories come.

One Thousand Gifts: What’s Hard about It.

If you haven’t read One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, you’ve probably heard chatter about it.  This Canadian mother tells how she came to life by looking for and listing the smallest of life’s (God’s) blessings (a weathered rocking chair, an old woman’s laugh, and the scent of an orange all qualify as gifts).  By picking up the book, you’re essentially taking on the challenge she took:  to list one thousand gifts.

Today I’m at gift number 565.  Wow!! you might think.  Yet meanwhile I’m thinking, Maybe I’ll have an epiphany when I write the one thousandth gift…  Maybe?

I’m told that if you want to make a legitimate gifts list, you can’t write down anything unless you feel grateful for it – unless you actually delight in it.  Otherwise, we’d all be looking around the room naming every object as if we were playing “I Spy,” for the sake of getting our lists done.  Always having been an observer who writes, I can make a pretty lengthy list of life’s beauties even when following the rules.  Still, I have a hard time connecting these things to God.  Nature is the easiest – realistically, who else designed a tree with all of its seasonal phases and potential for funny bulges and twists?  But if anything is manmade – a vehicle, a jacket, even a city skyline at dusk – I struggle to see God as responsible for it.  I WANT to give Him full credit – I want to badly! – but my heart still needs convincing.

I feel especially strange listing things that are beyond necessity, knowing that too many people never see basic comforts and wondering how things could be so lopsided.  Why should I snuggle into my couch and jot down “beautiful 1870s home” while others sleep outside?  Or “chicken quesadillas for dinner” while others scrape for half a meal?  Yet who am I to criticize His distribution of the gifts?  Who am I to look at someone and say that they have no gifts from God?  Can I really put a hold on my gratitude until I figure out why all isn’t fair in my eyes?  No.  I can’t.  No, I can’t reconcile it, but I’ve got to drop this excuse.

For the gifts that are harder to connect to Him, I just have to call them opportunity.  Opportunity to have this house, opportunity to know a friend, opportunity to sightsee in a new place.  The chance to experience anything at all is an undeniable gift.  It resonates when I tell myself this:  I am not cooped up somewhere, or dead!  I am free to take in gifts with my senses, to list them so that I won’t forget too quickly, and to try to learn how they show the Maker’s lovingkindness.

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