Committed, Abiding
I have a friend, a good friend, who knows to call me when chaos reigns. Since our sorority days, the two of us have made room for each other when darkness looms and anxiety needs to spin for a few minutes. In moments of feeling trapped or alone or utterly without words, we know we have each other.
This friend, this good friend, called early one morning in a mothering moment of despair. Poor communication between spouses, chaotic morning of moving unwilling children from bed to school, and an echoing refrain that this moment is not what any of us thought parenting would be. Perhaps more distressing: this moment is not what we thought marriage would be.
She’s reading Committed, the new Elizabeth Gilbert memoir, and already hearing reports from friends, just ten and twelve years into their marriages, that the relationships are likely coming to an end. Not knowing the details of their lives, I still suspect they found themselves saying: this moment is not what we thought it would be.
It’s hard to have such a conversation between friends when toddlers and preschoolers and young, school-age children are clamoring for attention. Quickly, we spoke of marriage and partnership from a theoretical perspective. Is the problem that we lack a truly egalitarian paradigm in our culture for co-parenting? We thought our lives would look like that, but really they look like this. And this, at times, is not what we thought it would be.
I haven’t read Gilbert’s book yet. I get the title, but it sounds so rigid to speak of marriage this way. Committed. I’m committed to losing 15 pounds. I’ve committed a crime. I’m being committed because my children have made me insane! I’m committed to making this relationship work. Does sheer will make it work? Is a marriage really about contractual obligations and commitments?
I have always disliked the phrase, “Marriage is hard work.” That’s horribly unfair and only partially accurate. All inter-personal relationships, if we are bringing our whole selves to them, require the “hard work” of compromise, forgiveness, and grace. We either live in solitude and shallow relationships or we live into a way of abiding together.
Abiding. Maybe that’s an old-fashioned word, but I like it so much. It’s good for friendships, for talk of rich, community life, and perfect for the ever-changing rhythm of a relationship. I’m only nine years into my marriage with this kind man. Having children has certainly added challenges to our communication and to our ability to fully hear one another. But we are more than committed, we are abiding.
We heard all the unsolicited advice: “The first year’s the hardest.” and “Watch out for the seven year itch!” For us, learning to carve out time for each other amidst parenting roles as been the hardest in our young marriage. Learning to speak lovingly instead of flying off the handle, that’s abiding. There’s a hope to it–when moments are chaotic and hard, they will get better. Together, we will withstand, endure, bear patiently. When we’re out-of-synch, we wait for the other as we find our pace again. It’s a commitment, not for its own sake, but to live in a certain, steady way together.
“Love never gives up…but keeps going to the end,” the Apostle wrote. Whether in my friendship with the good friend or my marriage with the kind man, I believe this is true.
