It’s funny the things that make you stop and remember, “Oh yeah, I’m married now.” Like closing the bank account you’ve had since high school. I remember the excitement of opening it for the first time. I remember the panic when I received calls from Mom freshman year asking if I had over-drafted again (the answer was usually “yes.” You live and learn, I guess!) Nevertheless, I marched in there like a big girl today and closed my account, which luckily had more in it than the day I opened it.
Then you get to go to the Social Security office and get a new card. And then your identity is really changed when you get your new license. A pleasant lady (glad I got her line) greeted me and could obviously tell I didn’t want to part with my youthful license picture from yesteryear. “Oh honey,” she said, “let me cut that out for you!” She left nothing but my small square face and forked it over for me to put in my wallet. That was a good picture I must say. It’s amazing how cute you can look when you don’t have to work, you lay by the pool all summer and walked into the revenue office with a Sonic drink.
It was so strange to see "Ray" written where "Reely" used to be. Always having been identified as "Mr. Reely's kid" or "Bob Reely-- that guy who wears the goofy hats in chapel--'s granddaughter," it was bizarre to realize that people will no longer see my distinct last name staring back at them, leading them to ramble about how they know some relative of mine. It even got me out of a police ticket one time because Dad was his camp counselor and PawPaw had been his professor.
The reason I bring all this up is because one of my biggest fears initially about marriage was losing my identity. I had heard people grumble about marriage and had endured plenty of friendly warnings. I didn't want to lose my sense of adventure. I didn't want to be a nag. I didn't want to be a slave. I have since figured something out that has helped me fill this new role.
Being a servant isn't being a servant. Maybe you had to read that twice. As strange as it sounds, it is true. I always thought that being a wife meant I was expected to cook, clean and... other things. My enlightenment came over a simple sandwich. I'll spare you the details, but before we even got engaged, there was a slight spat about a sandwich. Justin was busy doing something and asked if I would make him one. The what-I-thought-was an independent woman cried out in me. I selfishly thought, 'I have two degrees and he wants me to make him a sandwich. Psh."
Much thought and prayer made me swallow my pride. I realized: Justin has never hesitated to pick me up in the middle of nowhere when I am lost. Justin cooks me dinner when I work all day. Justin helps clean up the kitchen. Why would I not be compelled to do something as insignificant as slap two pieces of bread together? He didn't expect me to. He just asked me to. I wouldn't hesitate to go out of my way for a friend, but I was holding back from the one I loved because of a misconstrued stereotype I was trying to avoid.
And tah-dah, my outlook on marriage life suddenly shifted from an identity loss to a tremendous gain. Now I have someone to share my goofiness with (poor guy). Now I have someone to adventure with. Now I have someone who knows me to my very core. I'm not losing myself; I am sharing myself with someone else.
I am not your typical "Leave it to Beaver" wife. I burn things all the time. And my laundry basket sometimes overfloweth. But I want a servant heart like Jesus.
...and maybe the ability to multiply bread and fish for company while we're at it.
Oh how this reminds me of those first few months of marriage. I too struggled immensely with the whole submit-to-your-husband-oh-lowly-woman thing. Big time. You are lucky to have learned what it really means so early on! And as your marriage grows over time, doing things for each other becomes so very natural that you don't even realize it. It really does get better everyday. Love your blog!!
ReplyDelete