WEEK 2 (Feb 24, 2018)-Cont’d:
It was our first Saturday morning together. I’d started to figure out coffee, which Dean does not do.
I brought a coffee pot down with me during the week, but failed to get filters, so I suffered through a stale Folgers single-serve bag, which he thought might be more than 3 years old.
Then came the hormone meltdown—I cried for two hours as Dean got ready to show houses. As he left, he turned from the front door and asked, “Are we going to be okay?”
“It’s just hormones.” (Sob, sob, sniffle, sniffle ….) “Go. We’re fine.”
Later we discussed our differences in housekeeping as I felt he was saying I was dirty. I wash and rinse the dishes, and let them drain in one side of the cleaned sink.
He let them drain onto a towel on the counter. Also, he made some comments about my little dog, Curam, sitting on the couch with her butt.
“I trained her to clean herself on command. Some people say it’s disgusting. I say it’s ingenious. Nobody wants doggy pee on the furniture or their lap.”
Dean was not impressed.
My mother’s words haunted me, “Are you sure you want to get married? You’re both older and set in your ways.”
Instead of dealing with each thing as it came up, I stored it all up for such a moment as this.
Not good. I knew better, and still it happened.
Finally, I figured out that we just do things differently, (no kidding,) and after that I learned to say, “If you don’t like the way I’m doing it, you can finish up yourself.” That turned out to be the key. No way did he want to clean house.
“How often can I expect this sort of … hormonal incident?” He ventured to ask. He was visibly relieved to hear I experienced them only once or twice a year at the most.
I still felt weepy the rest of the day, even after it became clear it was hormones and not that I’d made a horrible mistake in marrying Dean.
* * *
It was also our first Sunday at church together as a married couple. We received lots of congratulations from fellow parishioners and our pastor. I’ve always been uncomfortable under the spotlight, but with Dean by my side I was more at ease with the attention. After the previous day’s meltdown, I needed to see the benefits of marrying.
* * *
Adjustments to my new home and the longer commute were difficult. Due to no fault of Dean’s, I felt like a guest in his house. We’d talked about buying a new house together and had looked at a few while we dated.
When he sent a link for a house for sale, I suggested waiting more than a week after the wedding before going through the stress such a big decision will introduce into our lives.
Marriage and moving are in the top 10 of life stressors.
When we first met, I asked, “So what do you do for a living?”
He replied,” I’m in real estate.”
I panicked.
The Lord had been teaching me for the past two decades that He is my provider. He pounded home the fact that even when I get married, He is still the one providing, even if it’s through a spouses’ job.
Real estate is a big Trust the Lord kind of job, as is any commission-based job. I was a little freaked out about the prospect of truly trusting God for provisions for the rest of my life. I thought it was just a cute little lesson, applicable only during my season of singleness, especially during the recession when I received TWO 20% pay cuts.
I’m a little bit jealous that Dean’s “living the life”—okay, I’m a lot jealous. The upside of being a real estate agent is his being able to set his own schedule. But given my sleep deprivation, I’m envious of the fact he doesn’t have to get up with an alarm, except on the rare occasion.
I offered to use the guest bathroom in the mornings, so I didn’t disturb him, but he said he’d get up in the mornings with me.
“I made your lunch,” he said while handing me my leftovers container on the way out the door the first work morning after the wedding.
Rom 12:18—If it be possible, as much as it lieth in you, live peaceable with all men (KJV)