Love puts up
{From April 2013. Had to share in honor of Friday’s marriage conference!}
“Love … puts up.”
-1 Corinthians 13
I flipped open the laptop–there on the keyboard lay the photo.
I shook my head and smiled, a little surprised at the emotion welling up in my eyes. It’s been 12 years of passing that thing back and forth, sneaking it into unexpected places for the other to find. Both book lovers, we had perused the small used book store at the beach as newlyweds, sorting through dusty titles, searching for some hidden literary gem. I don’t remember what we bought, but when we got it home, tucked within the pages was this polaroid picture.
Now it’s been tucked into places more times than I can count. It’s spoken a thousand words. We’ve tucked it in at times to say, “I’m sorry.” At times it means, “Just thinking of you.” And at times it means so much more. But whenever I see this photo it’s like another stitch, like pulling that thread taut and tugging so slightly, so all the stitches tighten. This picture reminds me of all the stitches over the years and pulls them tighter together.
And now, you’re away. This afternoon you drove off, and Heidi waved her little arm until we couldn’t see you anymore, and I felt silly for feeling so sad. It’s only a week, after all. But suddenly I remembered yesterday, how I had sighed (the classic victim-SAHM sigh) as I sorted through your middle pile. How I eyed you accusingly when you shelled pistachios right after I’d cleaned the counters. How I only half-listened this morning when you shared your idea with me. (How could I forget how much courage it takes to speak dreams out loud?) I remembered how you let me eat your french fries today and how you met us for a picnic when I’m sure you had more pressing things to do. And I remembered how you worked all afternoon fixing the lawn mower, and surprised me with Peet’s coffee for my trip this weekend. Then I remembered how I gave you the stink eye when you ate the last of the caramel corn.
How I left today without even doing your laundry. And how you said no big deal and cheerfully dug through the dirty clothes to find enough socks to wash and take on your trip.
Why do I love so pathetically?
I stared off, sad for all the ways I haven’t loved you more. But then, this picture somehow centered me. It always does.
Because you put it there and it tells me, all over again, that love covers a multitude of sins.
It is us, in so many ways. The faux wood panelling is hideous, of course, and I love it. The artwork is off-centered, and not in an artistic way. The purple and red pillows are delightfully strange, but the faces are the best.
He is Just. So. Happy.
His hand is on her thigh, his tie is huge, and he’s just grinning from ear to ear.
She, well, she’s half-smiling, but really thinking of what to make for dinner.
I am this woman, except I have better hair.
She’s putting up with the picture-taking (and him?) even though she’d rather be checking some ridiculous item off her list.
He’s just happy with his hand on her leg. The End.
He puts up with her half-smile just as she puts up with his beam.
And that’s the beauty of it: Love puts up.
Because not all romance is wild passion all the time. Because I put up with your stuff and you put up with mine. And because even though this couple isn’t running barefoot down a beach, their love is compelling to me. Because that’s just it: Love puts up. Because at different times last week each of us wanted to pack up and quit this ministry life. And both times the other one of us simply put up. Listened. Waited. Stayed quiet. Prayed. And both times we came around.
Because real love is so different than it is on TV. So much better. Because even the “putting up” part is good. It’s the time walking together in the valleys.
It’s the spaces in between the milestones, where you just keep holding hands and holding on.
Kind of like this:
Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end. (1 Corinthians 13:3-7 MSG)
Thanks for putting up with me, my love. I really am sorry about the laundry.
{Thanks, all, for reading.}
*Originally shared April 2013.
Because I don't want to be two trains …
{Originally posted June 2013}
This picture was taken 10 years ago today. (Um…. Could Jeff be any happier?!)
Neither of us cared much about a fancy wedding, so the flowers were fake, from Joann’s fabric, and the dress was borrowed from a friend. We married at my parents’ house–on a 95-degree day–and were surprised when we got to the cake-cutting part and discovered a three-tier wedding cake. Apparently someone made one for us because we had just planned on Costco sheet cakes. Surprise!
That’s kind of been the story of our life: Surprise!
We drove off into the distance, hootin’ and hollarin’ and thanking God we got to leave alone! We had waited for our wedding day to even kiss each other (Seriously.) All we really wanted was each other, so once the formalities ended we bolted for the honeymoon–17 days in Hawaii (!) thanks to my generous parents.
We had a blast. Everywhere we went people kept telling us to stop kissing. We did everything together, wondering why on earth people wanted to have “Girls’ night out” or “Guys night out.” Why would anyone want to be away from their spouse, ever??? We threw ourselves into the busy ministry life, ate ice cream together way too often and played card-games on the kitchen floor late at night, always dreaming big for our life ahead, together.
We were, in every way, ONE.
Shortly after our wedding, we attended a funeral together. I have no idea who died. A friend of a friend of a friend, perhaps? I don’t even remember why we were there. But the guy who died, whoever he was, was a big deal. Maybe in politics or something? I can’t remember. But he was a big deal, and she was a big deal, and a lot of people were there because they were a big deal.
And when it came time for the wife to speak, she talked about how they each had own life. He had his life and she had his, but that it was good, their marriage like that was good. She said,
“We were two trains running on parallel tracks.”
Everyone nodded and smiled, as if in agreement about the beauty of two trains running on parallel tracks.
After the funeral Jeff and I made our way to the car. Once inside, we looked at each other. Jeff’s spoke my thoughts:
“Babe, I don’t want to be two trains running on parallel tracks.”
Those simple words have haunted me ever since. At that point, it was easy to be one. We did everything together, just us, fun crazy stuff, making memories and laughing all the way:
We traveled to Israel, swam in the Dead Sea …
…and rode camels together, holding on for dear life.
And then we really held on for dear life, because after visiting some friends in Boston we …
…(SURPRISE!) had a baby!
And everything changed.
I remember this night, when Dutch was six months old. It was our first “night out” together, just us, at a wedding at Steve Ballmer’s house in Washington (Thanks, Jeremy & Mari). We had just moved in with my parents, left our jobs, and were finishing seminary. So many things had been stripped away. And that night we danced on the boat dock, laughed ourselves silly, and finally awoke from the fog of 2am feedings and dirty diapers. We adored our son but this was good … and the time together was that much sweeter, because we’d walked through some struggle, together.
And at Mom and Dad’s, I’m smiling here but didn’t smile much in those days. Despite my wonderful parents I was so down, so often. Hard, long days with a baby, and no car or phone and Jeff was gone a lot and we with no money and no job and no idea how on earth the future would work out. I smiled here, but so often I cried. But he held me fast and one day came home and said, “I bought you a little something. For $13, I bought www.karipatterson.com.” And my darkness found light, and my thoughts found words, and this little blog began and my soul found space to breathe.
And then, “Surprise!” Heidi came. And I had wept because what would happen? And we needed an income and health insurance and where would we live? And one by one God provided everything–the job, a temporary home, and–crazy miracle–the “coincidence” of double-coverage for a 2-week period: Right when she was born. And we laughed ourselves silly at His provision and then five days later I cried myself to sleep as the house that we were renting sold and it meant packing up these babies and moving (again!) and where would we go? And we sat that night at Carl’s Jr. (don’t ask me why) and ate french fries and wrote down on a napkin, “We trust God.” And we wrote the date and carried that napkin everywhere, just to remind us. That no matter what: We trust God.
And we walked that rocky shore, both kids in tow, and smiled at the future. He’d be in it.
And He did come through, again. Those generous Dombrows opened their home, and then the apartment, and then the “dream home.” And we moved in and life was perfect and we were living the dream. And Kimberly Stone took these family photos and it was the one strangely quiet time of our life–like the calm before the storm.
Then I wore the cap and gown, then he wore the cap and gown, and we donned our hoods and finally ended the long trudge through seminary–us both tired but glad we did it.
And then, things got crazy again. The Hole In Our Gospel turned our world upside down nothing looked the same and my dream life wasn’t dreamy anymore. But in that wild ride He changed us and gave us unity and strength, and we met up with World Vision and that trip up there, to Seattle–it was for the best thing for us. Reminding us we were one, together, not two trains but ONE.
And we started pursuing a simpler life. We moved to our dumpy rental on Hazelhurst Lane, picked berries and quit keeping up with the Jones’s, whoever they were.
And then this year we took another flying leap of faith, planting RENEW Church, welcoming our housemate, and moving (our 13th time in 10 years!). And it was hard and good and I was writing e-books and working on the real book, and speaking and traveling and life was just so full. And you planned the special trip, just us, to the Church-Planting conference, and when we arrived at the airport at midnight and we’d missed the hotel shuttle so — surprise! — they sent us a limo instead. We sat in the green light in the back of the limo, reminded again we don’t want to be two trains.
But honestly … it’s hard.
We’ve jam-packed a lot into ten years–13 moves, 8 combined years of seminary, 4 different church ministry jobs, church-planting, two kids, blogging, book-writing, speaking, traveling … we sat down just a few days ago, a bit of painful reflection as we realize:
It’s all too easy to be two trains, running on parallel tracks.
Life is so full and we serve and love and answer the phone and meet the needs and run the errands and fix whatever’s broken this time on the house. And if there is one nugget of truth we’ve gleaned from these ten years it’s this:
It’s a lot easier to just be two trains than it is to truly be one.
It’s easier to just be partners. Have a business relationship. Serve each other and raise the kids and get the job done, but marriage isn’t a picture of a business partnership —
It’s a picture of crazy romance and unparalleled love. The love of the Son for His bride, the church.
And so together, today, we’re committing afresh to that love. To turn again to one another. To pursue one another, not just getting stuff done. To laugh more and do a little bit less.
We’re committing to a shorter list of things to do and a longer list of things we’re grateful for.
So, dear reader, thanks for letting me share this–a short history of our 10-year journey of marriage. I am a most imperfect wife loving a most imperfect husband, and we commit afresh today to this thing called marriage–a picture of Jesus’ extravagant love for us.
Perhaps you may commit afresh today too?
And now, would you bless me? Would you share with us the best Marriage Advice you have received? Either from your own experience or that someone has shared with you? We’d LOVE to read your thoughts as we celebrate our anniversary this weekend. THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! And Happy Anniversary, my Love!
What keeps us from Kindness
I have had experiences where it felt like sadness would swallow me whole. I know you probably have too, I know I’m not unique in this. Experiences of sadness and grief that felt insurmountable. Some of these were during miscarriages, some during my own personal failures, some during the death of each of my parents.
But I’ve never experienced anger that I thought might swallow me whole. That’s a praise, I recognize it’s amazing to live 44 years and never have had to face that kind of anger. But recently, God chose in His sovereignty to allow me to experience this feeling. It wasn’t pretty. 🙂
Coming out on the other side, God has been so gracious, so I wanted to share a few of things He showed me and the process he took me through, in case you ever feel like this too.
1. Forgive: First, in an almost-audible voice God forcefully said, You HAVE to forgive. That is, burn the IOU. Release the debt. Through a process with God, I did that. And this isn’t a one-time thing (Matt 18:21-22). Usually it’s over and over and over. For me, it helps to actually write out what wrong has been done, like an IOU, and then burn it, symbolizing that I am releasing that debt.
2. Grieve: Just because something is forgiven doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, and it certainly doesn’t mean that the loss isn’t still real and painful. Along with the person who was wronged, we went through a process of grieving what had been lost. We chose to do this as a small ceremony together (like a funeral) and it greatly helped our hearts.
3. Identify God’s legit goodness: I say legit just because this isn’t a fakey fakey religious thing where we pretend that terrible things are actually good. For us, this meant honestly identifying some extremely difficult and painful things and also seeing that God was actively working for the good and even in this situation. It was so helpful to talk through how truly gracious God had been and thank Him specifically for His blessings.
4. Pray blessing over the person who hurt you. Only after we truly recognize God’s goodness toward us can be honestly pray blessing over someone who hurt us. Scripture clearly commands us to do this.
5. Release hate. Though all these steps were good, one Sunday I sat in my chair in church, waiting to take communion because I realized there still was something deeply off in my heart. The message was on Kindness. I had released anger, I had forgiven, I had gone through this process, I had even prayed for this person, but that morning I had read Luke 6:35. “But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.”
Kindness. God is kind to the ungrateful and the evil. I realized that while I had forgiven, grieved, and prayed for this person, I still felt absolutely incapable of being kind to this person. Kindness is active. It’s outward. Bowing my head I told God I could not be kind to this person, there was something still in my heart that was blocking this fruit of the spirit. I asked Him, what is it?
I heard it clearly: Hate.
Yikes. No bueno. I knew that was it, and also that if I let it stay, it would kill me, body and spirit. Like letting a deadly cancer stay, it would spread. It would destroy me. We’ve all seen people who clearly have let hate make its home in their hearts. We don’t want that.
But strangely enough, I had to admit I did kind of want it. I remembered the scene from Count of Monte Cristo where Mercedes begs Edmond to let go of his dark plans of revenge. He responds, “If ever you loved me, don’t rob me of my hate. It’s all I have.”
What is it about hate that feels like something valuable to hold onto? I had never before understood that dark desire to keep it, but now I did.
Thankfully, I also knew the enemy wants nothing more than to get us to hold onto our hate, thinking we need it somehow, that it’s the fuel we need for life.
Like with Luke Skywalker, the dark Emporer Palpatine eggs us on, encouraging us to use our hate to help others. He basically says, “Let hate be your fuel.”
But Luke refuses. He refuses to let hate turn him to the dark side. He recognizes that hate will destroy his true mission.
As it will ours. Our true mission is to destroy the works of the evil one (1 John 3:8). And he wants to sow discord. He wants to take mere mistakes, mishaps, and foolish choices and make them irredeemable. He wants to keep us trapped in hate, anger, malice, and unforgiveness because that is what separates us from God.
Scripture could not be more clear: “If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen” (1 John 4:20).
I also knew that although I did now truly WANT to be free from it, I couldn’t will it away. I couldn’t remove it myself. It was impossible on my own. Only God could take it. With tears and snot running down my face I asked him to please take it away.
And He did. 🙂
The truth is, people make mistakes, they’re often careless. I make mistakes. I’m often careless. It is inevitable that we’re hurt, angered, betrayed. CS Lewis beautifully reminded us that, “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.” So our options are refuse to love (and lock away our hearts in dark coffins) OR learn to process the pain that love inevitably brings.
I opt for the latter. If you do too then we must become adept at this process and learn to let God lead us through it, if we’re going to make it through this life loving others without letting hate destroy our souls.
God has been so kind to us. The truth is, we hurt and betray him in word, thought, and action often. Jesus died for people who betrayed him.
Kindness, forgiveness, and grace are the waters of the gospel and we want them washed over us we must wash them over others as well. Amen? Thanks for reading.
Because none of us can buy what we want most of all…
“Throwing a party?” The cashier asked. I blinked hard. “Oh, my daughter’s turning … 16.” My voice cracked on the last word and I looked down into my purse, pretending to look for something.
She filled the bag full, the glittery Happy birthday sign, the balloons and streamers and crepe paper balls, the golden 16 cake-topper. The perfectly-worded birthday card.
But as I’d walked the aisles and filled my arms with celebratory items the aching reality kept running through my mind, “I can’t buy what I want most for her.”
I sat in the car and couldn’t stop crying.
Earlier that week I had asked her who she wanted to have lunch with on her birthday and she said Oma.
My heart busted straight open.
Life has its ups and downs and that week had been a down. I guess disappointment is the word we use to describe when life’s circumstances aren’t what we had hoped they’d be.
Sixteen wasn’t looking the way she thought it would.
And why was this hitting me so particularly hard? Harder than her. Because those of us who’ve lived a few decades more have so many more memories associated with those feelings of disappointment. Though not cynical or jaded, there is still a deep recognition that that pain of disappointment will happen more times than you can possibly know, dear girl. And though I hated to say it, I had texted my friend:
I’m really struggling with feeling like her “welcome to womanhood” is a huge dose of pain and can I just be honest and say that feels sadly symbolic?
She feels a sting, but I feel gutted.
We love and get hurt. We love and they die. We birth humans and our bodies literally give themselves over, up, deplete in ways in order to give life.
We decrease that they may increase.
It’s so good and so gospel but sometimes hurts so much.
And I see this depth in my daughter that is beautiful and captivating and everything I ever hoped she’d be. But with depth comes pain too. Sometimes I feel like she’s had more than her share of sorrow.
And then my mind trails to a dear friend, with a dear daughter, who certainly has had more than her share of sorrow. We had just sat over her dining room table and ached together. I know for a fact there are things she wishes she could buy for her daughter who has physically suffered more than most of us could ever dream of.
We can’t buy new hearts, literally or figuratively.
But I hear His voice, that whisper, and He says, “Behold, I make all things new.”
And with shaking hands, I sit at Starbucks and turn the well-worn pages of my Bible to that chapter. The same one we read at Oma’s burial.
No death, no mourning, no crying, no pain.
I glance up just as a boy walks in, his face badly disfigured. Badly. My breath catches.
I bet sometimes he aches for new things too.
New things you can’t buy.
And I find myself grateful for God’s little gift of perspective. Am I the only one who aches for all things new? I think not. None of us can buy what we want most of all.
Perfect peace. The deepest soul rest that says, God’s got it. Renewed hearts, minds, bodies, souls.
Can I be grateful for the glimpses of grace and glory we get this side of heaven without demanding the fullness before the time?
Will I wait for the truly Happy Ending? With patience. With endurance. With joy.
I’ll try. {Thanks for reading.}