Not Fair

I remember the first time I thought, "I could marry that guy."

My then-future husband and I had been dating for a couple of weeks at the time; I had really liked his fun personality, sharp wit, and good looks, but I had definitely gone into the relationship thinking that it was going to be a fleeting thing.  After all, I was due to leave on a mission in four months and he was planning on moving after the semester ended.

However, as a friend of mine (who was admittedly a little odd) approached me and asked me if I would ask my boyfriend to give her a Priesthood blessing, I watched my boyfriend's reaction as she asked him.  He was gentle and kind, despite her rather bizarre antics, and graciously agreed to find someone else to help him give her a blessing.

The blessing was beautiful--he blessed her with health, comfort, and a host of other very personal things that I'm sure were quite a strength to her.  And that was when I realized--I could marry this guy.  He is something special.

My relationship with God has always been a priority for me in my life, and so when I think about it, it should come as no surprise that the first time I was willing to commit to my future husband was when I saw him in such a spiritually powerful way.

As I left on my mission and read the letters he wrote to me, I was even more attracted to that side of him as he sent me letters that described temple attendance, service in the church, and scripture study--all in a humble, matter-of-fact way that alone bore testimony of simple but powerful habits cultivated over a long period of time.

Once I got home from my mission, we were engaged and married shortly afterwards, and from the first, I was surprised to see that his spiritual habits were nothing like what I'd expected them to be.  We'd sit in bed for hours at night together, me wanting and hoping for him to lead us in couples prayer before we fell asleep, and him knowing that I wanted him to lead out and stubbornly refusing to do it--this awful, silent, passive-aggressive struggle.  Every single night, after waiting uncomfortably and stalling for hours at a time, I would end up being the one to give in and ask if he wanted to pray.  To his credit, he always said yes, but it was rare, if ever, that he brought it up on his own.

This one particular example seemed to be his attitude towards a lot of spiritual things throughout our marriage; if I wanted something church-oriented or spiritual to happen in our family, I either had to remind/ask him about it, or it didn't happen, whether it be home teaching, scripture study, Family Home Evenings, or temple attendance.

This is not fair.  It's not what I signed up for--the very thing that made me most attracted to my husband was his spirituality, and to see him now, sleeping through church and forgetting or not caring about the majority of his church service--it makes me terrified, actually.  Why would someone so strong choose to change so much?

My mom often talks about "campaign promises," you know, someone's behavior before marriage becoming something completely different after the rings are on, but I don't think he was faking it when he married me.  I genuinely think he had a strong, close relationship with his Heavenly Father at the time; and to hear the stories he tells from his mission, I know he has had a testimony in the past.  And I think he still has remnants of a testimony--when I asked him about it in tears a week ago, telling him of my deepest fears that we had different priorities and were going in different directions, he insisted he knew the truth--of God's reality and the power of the Atonement.  Once in a while he'll volunteer a story about following the Spirit, but those stories are few and far between.  And it's been years since I've heard him bear testimony without being prompted.

I know I sound judgmental.  I probably also sound immature and hypercritical, which I guess I am.  It's true that I shouldn't pass judgment on my husband's spirituality; a person's relationship with God isn't something that can be accurately determined from outside actions, no matter how closely watched.

It's just hard to believe that my husband is putting God first when I don't see much evidence in his life, I guess.

Me Again

I woke up yesterday morning feeling like myself again, for the first time in I don't know how many months.
I got out of bed without my children forcing me to.
I cleaned.  ON MY OWN.  I swept and mopped my floor (it's literally been over a month since the last time I did that), and I cleaned without resentment or anger, but with the genuine satisfaction that comes from seeing a job well done, as well as the peace that come from living in a house that doesn't resemble a place where you would keep livestock.
And then my husband came home from a camp out, and I could tell he was irritated.  Irritated that I had talked him into taking both the three-year-old AND the five-year-old with him (I know, I'm so demanding).
And I started feeling guilty.  And then I started feeling resentful and manipulated, and then cleaning suddenly became a CHORE instead of a gift of service to the people I love.  Another symptom of just how much I was taken for granted.
And then I felt guilty for being resentful, and I thought I could hold it in and just fake it--I could just go and take a nap with my husband on our bed...but Heavenly Father doesn't let me do that anymore.
Thank Goodness.
So, after mopping and sending my cranky husband in to take a nap, I went and ate some lunch (I'm one of those people who get hangry--I get cranky if I haven't eaten for a while), and then I took a nap on the couch, after a few more surrendering prayers and a little bit of reading in my Steps.
And after we woke up, when we felt better, I pulled The Husband aside and TOLD him.  Honestly, but kindly.  "I'm glad you took the boys camping, but I was angry because I felt that you had a bad attitude about it.  That's why I didn't come sleep with you for nap time."
He was gracious about it and apologized for his bad attitude, and I felt better.
I gave him the truth.
And the truth set me free.