Tuesday, April 24, 2012

The lawn care issue in our marriage - Part 2.

You might ask: "So, J, if you really wanted the lawn mowed at a certain point in time, and you didn't want to pay someone to do it, then why didn't you just mow the lawn yourself?"
I'm so glad you asked that question. Really.

Try as I may, I'm a learned behaviorist at heart and (without Jesus) I tend to work off a natural worldview of "fairness." And in regards to chores, what's fair is that you take care of what you are supposed to be taking care of. Like I mentioned yesterday in regards to my thought-life about it all a few weeks back: "It's supposed to be your job anyway." Period. 


So when I get to the fork in the road where I realize that either I can ask/nag/wait to see if L will take care of mowing the lawn, or I can take care of it myself, I start playing by "Love and Logic" rules.

If I mow the lawn, it will take me about 2 hours. Do I have an extra 2 hours in my day?

I don't actually have an extra 2 hours just laying around. But I could sacrifice some other things in order to maybe find 2 hours that I could use to take care of this chore he's obviously not tending to.

But what would I sacrifice??
'Me' time? Definitely not. 
Blogging time? Nope. 
Time with E? Not a chance.  
Other chores - dishwashing, laundry, picking up, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom? Maybe - but then if he doesn't do those I will just have to find another time of the day/evening/middle of the night to do those things too. 
Time with him? Now that's an idea.....hmmmm....I mean, I'm going to be frustrated with him anyway because I'm doing his chore. Maybe I'll just postpone my "me" time or my blogging time until tonight - when we usually try to spend some time together. That way, when he asks whether or not we can watch a movie together, I get to kill two birds with one stone: "Oh....soooo sorry babe. I wish we could! But I didn't get a chance to do x-y-z today because the lawn really needed to be mowed. Oh - but I didn't mind! I was happy to do it for you. I just can't spend time with you now because I have to take care of these other things. Oh, I promise I'm not mad. I know you'll take care of it sooner next time. Mmm-hmmm. Love you too. Good Night.
And which option do I choose? The passive aggressive one, of course. The one where I get to throw as many punches as possible without messing up my hair or breaking a nail. The one where "nobody" gets hurt.

Nobody gets hurt.......except for the fact that I've given the devil one little foothold, one little way to squeeze into our marriage. One little opportunity that he can then turn into a thousand other opportunities to deceive and destroy. As Paul puts it:
"Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another. Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil...Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." -Ephesians 4:25-27;31-32
Mark Driscoll further explains this passage in one of his sermons by talking about the progression that Paul lays out in verses 31-32: how bitterness, when it takes root in your heart, leads to wrath. How wrath grows into anger. How anger swells up and produces clamor. How clamor ends up slandering anothers' reputation. And finally ends in malice - the worst kinds of evil you can imagine. All because that seed of bitterness went unchecked and unconfessed and unforgiven. It seems little and insignificant and can even seem "fair" in the moment, but it's not biblical, it's not good.

So, in spite of all the issues we DO have in our marriage concerning lawn care (taking out the trash, etc., etc.), I am thankful that the Lord has helped us (me) along in this one area by giving me the grace to confess my bitterness to Him and to my husband and start with a fresh opportunity today to try to love him and serve him better.



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