Monday, February 20, 2012

Marriage Letters: My Job- Your Job

 I decided to take a stab at the "Marriage Letters" challenge I mentioned last week. I'm linking up with Amber as she and her husband and dear friends seek to "hold their marriages up to the light". 


Your job is hard.  Your job is hard physically. You're on your feet for eight hours straight.  You don't have a "lunch break" or anything close to that. Many nights your first stop is the bathroom, because your store is hectic and doesn't always allow for the luxury of visiting the toilet.

It's hard emotionally and mentally. You endure rude people all the day long.  But you give them grace.  Because as often as not, they are sick people.  Sometimes, they are very sick people.  I often joke that although I get screamed at all day long at my job, at least our little munchkins don't scream and cuss at me.

My job is hard.  It's hard physically.  For months now, Graves has taken everything I have to spare.  I don't mind it so much, but it's a bit exhausting frankly. I hate the way my clothes hang even when I'm intentional about eating something every two hours. Those headaches I get are rough especially without the medicine I know would help, but it's exponentially worth it for him.

It's hard emotionally and mentally.  I feel the burden of two lives, two hearts, two souls on me.  All.  Day. Long.  Their safety and protection is my responsibility and their character will be (probably a substantial) part of my legacy.  I question often if I'm doing this right, if there's a better way, if I could give them more.  Some days I feel like every bit of my soul and strength has been poured in to them.  And I'm not sure that's a good thing, because I hardly have any left for you.  For Christ.  Other days, I have spent too much time staring at a screen or worrying about an outfit and a Holy conviction mixes with a sick guilt and I fear I've failed them again.  It's hard because I can't keep a thought in my head.  I often wonder if motherhood has allowed me a small taste of what your little attention disorder feels like.  I complete tasks now the way you always have...over the course of hours. Making a sandwich can take an hour, folding a load of laundry can take an afternoon, and cleaning a bathroom can take a day. And as a result, my thoughts are fragmented as well.  I say "Ummmmm" and pause for a good half minute multiple times during our conversations.  "Do I need some B12 injects or some nice herbal memory stimulants?" I inquire of you.  "No, Sweetie, you need to eat more, sleep more, and relax more.  Oh, and exercise more."  I usually want to throat punch you on the last line of this frequent dialogue.

Your job is important.  You help people.  You make them well.  On Sundays when I sulk through those last moments of church without you and make my way to Sunday school alone, I am reminded that you are gone because of the importance of what you do.  People need medicine every day of the week and you are there to make sure they have it.  You are a blessing to so many.

My job is important.  While you hold physical lives in your hands, daily, I hold something equally important.  I once heard a story about a woman whose friend gifted her with a book about the great cathedrals of Europe and how no one knows who built them.  The giver related it to her friend's role as a mother and inscribed the book "with admiration for what you are building when no one sees".

The thing....the wonderful that I am not alone in my building.  I may do a bit more of the daily hammering and carving.  But at night when you get home and drop every, EVERYTHING, for them, you are putting on the crowning touches.

Thank you for the crowning touches and for the acknowledgment and validation of my hammerings and carvings.

I love you,


Sarah said...

Beautifully done! Just checked out the link-up. I am in love with the marriage letters concept!

Ashley said...

So sweet :)

Brandee Shafer said...

Wait. Hold on a minute. Your kids don't scream at you???

Girl, you're doing things right for sure!

God bless!

Melissa said...

Love this! I like how you mirrored one job to the other! Really beautiful!

Amy said...

i think this is hands down one of my favorite posts EVER! i basically sobbed through it. the way you describe the magnitude of motherhood is just perfect. it's exactly the way i feel, but i haven't been able to put it into words.
this was beautifully written!

The Niemeyer Nest said...

Amazing! I just read it to Carl because it describes our life too.

Amber Haines said...

Something about this fills my eyes with tears. Those photos are precious. I think this all just felt so tender.

Thank you for joining us in this.