Portrait in Linen

It hurts my pride so much that this is so affecting.  I say, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care that he’s gone.”  But the honest truth is that I can hardly bear this.

What am I afraid of?

Afraid he’s getting attention from other females and enjoying it. I’m sure–almost 100% certain–that he gets that from somewhere.  And I resent it, because my attention is ineffective and meaningless.

And I resent it because he practically ignores me.  Which leads me to question my worth to him.

He says, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  But I know it’s not me he appreciates.  It’s simply the security of my presence.

He says it’s because I’m moody.  So often, I’m moody because I’m trying to cope with being ignored and neglected.

I don’t strive for perfection to his pleasure.  He seems to fail to notice any difference if I’m on top of the world or beneath it.  So I ask myself, “Why try?  Why pay any mind at all to whether or not he’s happy or satisfied?”

Because God would have me do it despite any discontent I may have.  Because love must conceive before it flourishes.  And it must conceive somewhere.  Is this for what a woman is purposed?  To birth love?

They say a wife must create a home in which her husband desires to dwell.  Where he finds respite, where he feels welcome.  This is so hard to do when I’m angry and bitter, tired of trying, weary of the absence of reward from him.  Thankless devotion.

I wrote him a heartfelt message for Valentine’s Day, and he didn’t even acknowledge it.  I wonder why I even wrote it.

And what to say of sex?  Except that I feel used.  Utterly.  Suspect he’s thinking of a dozen other things that have nothing to do with me.  Things he’s sought to “wet his eyes,” so to speak.  And then he can take it out–every single disgusting, unfaithful fantasy–on me.  He can hide my face, replace me with any image he chooses, and there I am to facilitate, like a blow-up doll.

I long for right things, good things.  I want so much for him to desire purity and sanctity for us–real authenticity.  But I’m afraid we have very different ideas of what authenticity is.

I believe he desires stability and normality.  A mean definition.  The comfortable common.

I desire a family broken and dedicated to God, blameless in commitment and surrender.  I think all of that is foolishness to him.

What do I pray for?  For me?  For him?  For us?  How do I invest my petitions?

I’ve been the fool–proud, resentful, condemning, weak, self-pitying.  I have not demonstrated strength or wisdom to any degree.  I’ve only revealed how petty I truly am.  I cannot expect selflessness to come from selfishness.

What does it mean to be truly broken?  To truly love as God intended?

I must first realize I am not a victim.  I am a failure at least to the degree that I accuse him to be.  I am all the more responsible for our unrest, because God’s granted me the knowledge of grace, forgiveness, and salvation, yet I flaunt it with vanity, pride, and judgment.

Should I pity him?  Would that not be disrespect?

I try to crawl into his mind, his loneliness, his losses, his isolation, his continuous struggle to find some self-respect, some peace.  But all I find there is pride, denial, deceit.  All ways in which he copes with his unhappiness.  And I know all too well I don’t have the power to melt it all away.

Does God wait for me to soften my heart?  To accept the pain?  To resign to the emptiness, accept it, and give everything I have to fill it with His light?

What does He have me to do?

It hurts, God.  It kills me to give in, to open myself up to rejection and utility.  It hurts, it injures my self-respect, denies me of my self-worth.  Can the awareness of my worth to You cover all that?  Can you give me enough strength and self-respect in You to bear me through?

“One more time….”  Do it, the right thing, and when I feel I just can’t go on, say, “I can do this one more time.”

It’s okay to cry to God.  It’s okay to run back to Him again and again and tell Him how much it hurts, how awful I feel, how angry I am, how used I feel I’ve become.

I should love him, appreciate him, provide for him, help him, anticipate his needs, serve him, because this is His will.  And if I spend a lifetime unloved, I will have served His purpose, because work in Him brings forth fruit.  God does not lie.

The light will be out in five minutes.  I must be reminded what love endures.