Expectations...
Every newly wed couple who has gone through pre-marital counselling is familiar with the big "expectations obstacles" they were warned they'd face. Most, like me, probably didn't worry too much about it.
"But pastor, we don't have any expectations. We're both pretty open-minded people."
Since getting married, I have had several moments of:
"Darn it, I guess I DO have expectations."
What's funny is that they are not what I pictured frustrated expectations being. It wasn't how one folded the laundry, who did the cooking, or who did the chores. Instead it has been multiple poignant moments of realizing many of my little daydreams will not ever come to fruition.
I always thought I was a realist. Now I realize that I've been an in denial, hopeless romantic who has perfected the technique of constantly shooting down my own dreams and fantasies, subconsciously hoping that my realistic, pessimistic self-talk would be proved wrong by life.
A Snow White or Aurora scrubbing the well or strolling through the woods not expecting anything special, and then getting whisked off her feet unexpectedly by a second person joining her song and changing her mind about what is possible.
Last week, one more nail was driven into the coffin of my marriage expectations:
I love to dance crazy and used to do it with my siblings often, while growing up. We'd throw on some dub step or some other high bass and beat music and just go crazy. I was well-known in my family for having no true talent or grace in the dancing department ( I OWN the awkward dance), but it didn't change the fact that I loved the feeling of getting down and letting it all out with my, more talented, siblings. I guess I felt like my dancing was just another part of showing my real self. And it was very intimate, because no one has seen me dance except my family. If I'm dancing with someone it is because I feel safe and fully accepted. Otherwise...I wouldn't chance it to dance it. It was such a freeing thing to just be one's ultimate self and still feel excepted. I always figured eventually my hubby and I would have dance parties of our own. He is not really the type you'd picture being into dancing like a crazy person, but then, most people don't picture me being into it either. I figured, once we were comfortable enough, it would just happen and he'd be down. Last week I learned that it wasn't the case. i had turned on some music. I asked him to dance. He said he didn't care to, but I could dance and he'd watch. I thought about it, but the thought made me feel stupid and foolish. Like a kid. That was the nail. He will never dance like a crazy person with me, and when he said as much--I surprised myself. I cried--big, baby tears.
I apologized through my tears. I told him it was "No big deal. Probably my hormones. I'm being an emotional GIRL. Sorry, Honey."
It sounds dumb that this sort of thing would matter that much, even as I write about it. But, it really does. Darn those expectations.
Today I decided maybe I just need to learn to dance alone. Maybe I will never crazy dance with my hubby without feeling stupid, but I can still crazy dance alone. God can dance with me.
And that's the kicker. Single or married, I still have the same voids. I'm still dancing alone, still singing alone, still walking alone, still feeling alone. My husband tells me and shows me he loves me every day, but he doesn't fill my voids. He doesn't fill my heart with joy like God did when I was single. I have found almost all my frustrated expectations end up coming down to me expecting my husband to be all knowing, all-accepting, or perfect like God. My husband doesn't hang on my every word, he doesn't care to hear about all my thoughts and feelings, and emotions--they would overwhelm him anyway. I'm a broken, strange, and overly serious human being. I still can't believe he felt I was worth marrying, because i think I must be a trip.
If other humans can't understand or fully accept my weird quirks, then I guess I still have to dance with my Maker. I have got to stop substituting my husband for God. He is not, and cannot be, everything that God is. God should still be my first love. My go-to choice, not last choice.
I used to lean on Him all the time. He was my lover long before my husband finally noticed me. God is the only one who cares about all my thoughts, feelings, and my dreams. He never tires of my repetitive "silly" struggles and listening to my worries--He will always listen with love. I don't have to walk alone. He can walk with me. He says He loves me no matter what. Nothing will separate me from His love--including my awkward dancing.
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