**Once again I must thrown in my disclaimer. I realize my posts about this reunion have been both numerous and lengthy. This is a once in a lifetime experience on more levels than I can describe. I want to record anything... it is too precious to forget or set aside. God has given me this gift and I would be a fool to think He would not use it to touch others as much as He has touched me. It is not something I should keep to myself... nor should I. **
Meeting Maria was an amazing experience. I didn't believe it was possible to learn so much about myself from someone I haven't laid eyes on since I was several weeks old. And I never imagined I would have a clearer picture of how truly blessed I am than I was after hearing her story...
Maria was 17 years old and a Senior in high school when she met my father, Jeff Matthews. He was 19 at the time. They met at a dance and began seeing each other shortly after. Maria's mom had remarried when Maria was 10 years old. Her stepfather was a pretty strict man. Her mother and father did not approve of my birth father. He was rebellious and had a bit of an attitude. Maria would sneak out of the house to see him anyway. Not long after they became involved, Maria found out she was pregnant. She was terrified. She told my birth father she was pregnant. He told her he didn't believe it. She knew her family would be very upset. They had been very vocal about their feelings and pretty harsh when a neighbor girl found herself pregnant the year before. Maria couldn't tell them. She kept it a secret for several months before she told anyone in her family.
After telling her family about the pregnancy, Maria began the task of deciding what she was going to do. She sought counsel from her church, her parents, social services... several options were out there. She could keep the baby. She could give it up for adoption. She could have an abortion. Maria decided early on not to have an abortion. Maria told me she had grown up knowing God. She knew who He was. Maria told me "It was one of the most difficult times of my life but I had never felt so peaceful. I had never in my life felt so close to God as I was when I carried you. It was as though I was wrapped in this blanket. I felt as though I glowed and everyone around could see it. He had a hand on me every moment I carried you." She prayed about it and decided that adoption was the best choice for both of us. My birth father was contacted again and told about her decision. He denied paternity but later contacted the adoption agency and signed the papers.
Maria said the pregnancy was very easy. She didn't have any morning sickness, I rarely kicked her or sat on her bladder, she never experienced discomfort. Apparently the only exception to that statement had been shortly before I was born. I was breach and the doctors expected to deliver me via C-section. But one night, while watching t.v. with her brother, Maria said she felt me begin to move. She watched her stomach as I slowly made a 180 degree turn in her womb. She stated that was the only time of discomfort that she recalls. I was due sometime early February. But on January 29th Maria went into labor. I was born about 3 hours later, a very quick delivery. My eyes were open within a few minutes and I had a full head of thick, dark hair.
That night, I stayed in the room with Maria. She has mentioned that night as one of the hardest throughout the experience. Maria was sure that adoption was the right way to go but the nurse that was assigned to her spent the entire night trying to talk her into keeping me. Maria felt conflicted. She was forced to take some long, hard looks at herself and ask herself some tough questions. Come morning, she felt even more sure that she was making the right decision to put me up for adoption.
I spent another day and night in the hospital with her. She had me dedicated to the Lord and given the name "Naomi" meaning "pleasant spirit". That is the only name she knew me by. I was taken from the hospital and placed with foster parents.
When looking into adoption, Maria was given the choice to choose the adoptive parents herself or let the agency decide. Maria opted to choose them herself. She had spent months before my birth looking at several applications but she hadn't made a decision by the time of my birth. There had been several that looked good but she kept coming back to one couple in particular.
Curt and Kathy Burton could not have children of their own and had been trying to adopt a child for several years. There had been some potentials but none of them worked out. A few months prior to my birth, they had an adoption fall through very late in the game. It broke their hearts. My dad, Curt, has shared with me some of their frustrations. "They had classes for us to attend. We would go to these classes with a dozen other couples in the same position. Time would go by and none of us would be selected to have a child. Then, some would go and you would see some new couples come in. They would be in class for a week and suddenly be selected for a child. Sometimes it just didn't seem fair. What was so different about us that we were sitting there time after time with nothing happening while all these other couples were becoming parents?"
My mom, Kathy, told me about an adoption that fell through at the last minute the December before I was born. It devastated her and she was ready to give up. But Curt asked her to give it one more try. God would provide. When my parents had filled out their application with social services, they had marked down that they were Christians. After that last adoption had fallen through, a social worker suggested my Curt and Kathy that they remove that fact from their application. The social worker explained that labeling yourself as a "Christian" could possibly turn prospective birth parents off and would make it harder for Curt and Kathy to be chosen. They talked about it but Curt was adamant that they keep the fact that they were Christians in the application. It was who they were. If they weren't chosen because of it then it was because God knew best. God would provide.
Curt and Kathy would have had no way to know that their application was being looked in those moments. Maria spent days looking at different couples and families. She would mentally set some aside and rule out others. She always found herself coming back to Curt and Kathy's application. In many ways they looked like scores of other couples. They were young, had no other children, had a dog. had a lot of love to give a child... but the one thing that stuck out to Maria the most was that they had listed that they were Christians. This wasn't something that she had seen on any other applications and it was very important to her that I be raised in loving, Christian home. It was that crucial piece of information that led Maria to choose Curt and Kathy as my adoptive parents.
On February 19th, 1980 - Kathy's birthday - Curt and Kathy received a phone call telling them they had been chosen to be the parents of a baby girl born on January 30th and they could come and pick up her at any time. Kathy wanted to leave right away but there had been some major rain storms and quite a bit of flooding. They would have to wait. They would be at the adoption agency on February 21st.
The papers were ready to be signed. Maria believed she was doing the right thing yet there was still that part of her that wanted to be sure. Against the advice of her parents, her pastor and the social worker, Maria demanded to see me one last time before the papers were signed. Maria shared with me later, "I had to be sure I was making the right decision. I knew how my mind worked. I knew that if I didn't at least try to see you again, I would always wonder if I was doing the right thing and it would drive me crazy." On February 21st, 1980 I brought to the adoption agency and presented to Maria again. She held me, talked to me, cried and prayed. Several hours later she knew "without a doubt" she was making the right decision. She said her goodbyes and handed me to the social worker. She was told that the adoptive parents were in the building and asked if she wanted to meet them. She struggled with the temptation but decided that this day was too special for them and didn't want to interrupt it. The social worker took me from the room and straight into the arms of Curt and Kathy Burton.
While they held me for the first time, Maria signed the adoption papers a few rooms over. She asked that they be told about my name being "Naomi" to see if they would consider keeping it as a middle name. My parents had chosen the name "Kristin" but had been struggling with a middle name they liked. Naomi was perfect. I became Kristin Naomi Burton.
I have lived my whole life knowing I was a miracle. When I was little I knew enough to know I had been a special present - my mom's birthday present, no less! As I got older I understood that my life could have been drastically different and possibly no existent had Maria chosen other paths. But I never truly grasped how truly blessed and special I was until I reunited with Maria. There was something about seeing that smile and looking into those eyes that I didn't remember but somehow recognized that helped me see my life a bit more clearly. Hearing it all play out through my parents' and Maria's eyes and seeing how perfectly all the pieces fit together made me realize what a treasure my life truly is.
I was born an illegitimate child. A mistake in the life of a 17 year old - what much of today's world would consider a burden to society and a perfect case for abortion. But that 17 year old made a difficult, life altering decision to carry me to full term and give me to a family that couldn't have children to their own. And while all of this was going on, a couple who was beginning to feel that they were beyond hope, kept their faith knowing that God had something planned for them. Both sides dealt with pain of loss and uncertainty. Then their paths intersected and changed their lives and mine forever.
There are many who would read this laugh at the "sheer coincidence" of it all. Yet there is not a person on the face of this earth who could make me believe that any part of this had been a coincidence. It was not an accident that Maria made the decision she did to place me up for adoption rather than choosing an abortion. It is not a coincidence that she chose my parents because of their faith - a faith that they had been advised to conceal if they wanted to be selected to adopt a child. It is not a coincidence that the adoption that looked so solid fell through at the last moment for Curt and Kathy. God had a hand in all of this. He claimed me the moment I was conceived. That is an amazing thought... and difficult to grasp.
It never truly occurred to me how much attention He has specifically given me. I am not some generic Christian... one of millions who He considers part of his extended family. I am a precious child to Him and He has taken great care in every aspect of my life. I am totally undeserving of any of it. I'm not anything special. To the world, I'm just another girl. But to my Father, I am something special. And He's given me an amazing example of just how special He thinks I am.
My prayer is that I will remember every day what this feels like. That I will wake up every morning in awe at the life I've been blessed with. That when I am feeling insignificant I will remember I was a gift that filled the desire of two people's hearts. That though I was a "mistake" I blessed the life of the very woman I would have been a burden to. That I will realize that, even though I may look nothing like Catherine Zeta Jones or have the talent of Jennifer Hudson, I am special and have a purpose. And I pray that I use my life to somehow remind people of the same blessings in their life. That even in sharing the story of this reunion, that is will remind someone who is reading it of how truly unique and special they are. Take a moment to look back on your life. Think of all the times your life could have gone in a different direction. Yet here you are. Everything in your life has happened for a reason - the good and the bad. Whether you feel it or not, you are a blessing. The world wouldn't be the same without you.
I am blessed with parents who are two of the most incredible people I've ever met. I share the eyes, smile and laugh of a woman who made an incredible and selfless sacrifice for me. I have an amazing husband who took the time to search out one of the deep desires of my heart and understanding just what it meant to me. I have the privilege of sharing my life with all of them now and seeing, for the first time, an example of how great God is. Thankful doesn't begin to describe it...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Reunions part 3
I have replayed those phone calls a thousand times in my mind. Each time I am still amazed and overcome with excitement and emotion.
Maria and I talked on the phone just about every day after that. She bought a plane ticket to Iowa and flew out from Alaska on December 9th. Dave and I were waiting at the Cedar Rapids airport. I can't remember ever being that nervous. I had managed to keep a cool head throughout the whole experience so far. Every reunion I had ever seen had involved tears and melt downs. Mine had so far only involved a lot of surprised stares and laughter. I hadn't shed a tear yet.
Here I was at the Cedar Rapids airport, pacing like a mad woman in front of the security line. (I must have made some FSA employees nervous that day.) Dave tried to get me to calm down but I couldn't get my insides to sit still. I was a wreak. My heart made an abrupt trip down to my stomach and up into my throat when I saw her plane pull up to the gate. Then I started to feel the threat of the flood behind my eyes. I was still willing myself not to cry at that point.
It literally felt like ages before everyone got off the plane. I didn't have any picture of her. I had no idea what she looked like and I was pretty certain that the image in my head wasn't going to aide my search. But as soon as I saw her, every bit of me know who she was. It was those eyes. I knew those eyes. I saw them in every picture and mirror every time I smiled. It was the strangest feeling in the world. I was completely overcome with emotions I can't even name. She walked up to me with those smiling eyes and hugged me. And I lost it. Every emotion that I had been feeling, all the things I wanted to say to her, all the questions I had for her... they all came out of me in incoherent, happy sobs. She squeezed me tight while I sobbed and told me "It's ok baby girl. It's ok." This succeeded in unleashing a new strand of sobs followed by some pretty feeble attempts at laughter. In all of my dreams, I never imagine that our reunion would feel like this. This was my mother. The woman who gave birth to me. The woman whose blood flows in my veins. The woman who carried me in her womb for nine months. The woman who made such a selfless sacrifice by choosing to take a hard look at herself and make the decision that was right for ME. All I could say was thank you.
The week of her visit went by far too quickly. We spent hours talking and looking at old photographs. My coffee table and living room floor was covered in photos of me. (It was rather uncomfortable actually.) She brought photo albums of herself and told me all about her life in the last 29 years. There are some photos of her when she was a young girl that look incredibly similar to me at the same age. There are three or four pictures of her when she was 18 and 19 that look identical to me at that age as well. It is amazing! She was nothing like I had ever imagined. She was better than that. I had prayed for days that God would clear my mind of any expectations or conclusions I had come to about her over the years. He gave me just that. All expectations that I had about her had been wiped clean just moments before she got off the plane. It had allowed us to get to know each other with no pressures. It was an amazing gift. Even more spectacular was that insight it gave me into how much of a hand God has had in my life to date.
And that part of the story will follow shortly...
Maria and I talked on the phone just about every day after that. She bought a plane ticket to Iowa and flew out from Alaska on December 9th. Dave and I were waiting at the Cedar Rapids airport. I can't remember ever being that nervous. I had managed to keep a cool head throughout the whole experience so far. Every reunion I had ever seen had involved tears and melt downs. Mine had so far only involved a lot of surprised stares and laughter. I hadn't shed a tear yet.
Here I was at the Cedar Rapids airport, pacing like a mad woman in front of the security line. (I must have made some FSA employees nervous that day.) Dave tried to get me to calm down but I couldn't get my insides to sit still. I was a wreak. My heart made an abrupt trip down to my stomach and up into my throat when I saw her plane pull up to the gate. Then I started to feel the threat of the flood behind my eyes. I was still willing myself not to cry at that point.
It literally felt like ages before everyone got off the plane. I didn't have any picture of her. I had no idea what she looked like and I was pretty certain that the image in my head wasn't going to aide my search. But as soon as I saw her, every bit of me know who she was. It was those eyes. I knew those eyes. I saw them in every picture and mirror every time I smiled. It was the strangest feeling in the world. I was completely overcome with emotions I can't even name. She walked up to me with those smiling eyes and hugged me. And I lost it. Every emotion that I had been feeling, all the things I wanted to say to her, all the questions I had for her... they all came out of me in incoherent, happy sobs. She squeezed me tight while I sobbed and told me "It's ok baby girl. It's ok." This succeeded in unleashing a new strand of sobs followed by some pretty feeble attempts at laughter. In all of my dreams, I never imagine that our reunion would feel like this. This was my mother. The woman who gave birth to me. The woman whose blood flows in my veins. The woman who carried me in her womb for nine months. The woman who made such a selfless sacrifice by choosing to take a hard look at herself and make the decision that was right for ME. All I could say was thank you.
The week of her visit went by far too quickly. We spent hours talking and looking at old photographs. My coffee table and living room floor was covered in photos of me. (It was rather uncomfortable actually.) She brought photo albums of herself and told me all about her life in the last 29 years. There are some photos of her when she was a young girl that look incredibly similar to me at the same age. There are three or four pictures of her when she was 18 and 19 that look identical to me at that age as well. It is amazing! She was nothing like I had ever imagined. She was better than that. I had prayed for days that God would clear my mind of any expectations or conclusions I had come to about her over the years. He gave me just that. All expectations that I had about her had been wiped clean just moments before she got off the plane. It had allowed us to get to know each other with no pressures. It was an amazing gift. Even more spectacular was that insight it gave me into how much of a hand God has had in my life to date.
And that part of the story will follow shortly...
Reunions part 2
It is amazing to me how something simple can set off a series of events that changes your life.
This past November, while staying with my parents in Oregon, my mom and I watched "Troy the Locator" on tv. The show is about a man who dedicates his time to helping people find lost loved ones. He has a ton of resources available to him and seems to get the job done very well. After about two tear filled episodes, my mom told me I should write the show and see if they would consider helping me find my birthmother. So I shot of an email thinking that there wasn't a snow ball's chance seeing as how I was one of thousands writing in every day.
My husband, Dave, asked if I would send him a copy of the email. A short time after getting it, he called me telling me he had never really understood how important it was to me to find her. He wanted to help me find her. Being the former detective that he is, he jumped right in. He pulled out my adoption packets and looked through all the information. He found a birthdate for my birth mother that the agency had forgotten to black out and set to work. The next day he called me and told me he had found 150 Marias with that date of birth. It would take some work narrowing it down. My mom spoke up and said she had heard from someone at the agency that my birth mother had moved to Alaska. So Dave calls back and tells me he has searched for Marias with that date of birth in Alaska. And there was only 1. I started freaking out a little. He told me not to get my hopes up and said he'd call me with more information. The next day, he told me he had contacted the neighbor of "Maria Works" and was able to determine that she was from California, she was hispanic. She was married with two boys and worked at a Safeway. Dave had explained to the neighbor why he was looking for her and the neighbor agreed to "feel out" the situation and give Maria Works his number.
Three days later I get a phone call from Dave. "I just got off the phone with your birthmother." This is when I really started to freak out. "I wasn't sure if it was her so I kind of skirted around the issue about and asked about California. But when I told her I was calling on behalf of my with 'Kristin NAOMI' she yelled into the phone that she had been waiting for this call for ages. She has been dying to find you and wants to talk with you."
All I could do was stare at the phone. My mom was ecstatic and couldn't wait to get all the details. I sat and stared at the wall for a bit. I wasn't really sure what to think or do. I had been looking for this woman for most of my life. This was a day I had waited for for oh so long. At that moment I didn't realize I could feel so many different emotions at one time. It was overwhelming. But the feeling I was most overcome by was fear. And I really didn't have anything to be fearful of. The fear of her not wanting to talk to me was nonexistent. The fear of her not being alive didn't matter any longer. It was the fear that the woman I had always thought of would exist. That I would be somehow let down by the real thing.
It took me three days to push that fear aside and make that phone call. It was amazing. We talked for 3 hours. Hearing her voice and her laugh was an incredible feeling. It was so similar to mine in so many ways. Learning that she loved music as much as I do, that we have the same sense of humor, that we both tend to smell absolutely everything... all music to my ears. Dave had sent her pictures of me and she commented immediately that I was "a Mendoza". My last name was Mendoza! She also told me that I have two younger half brothers who are dying to meet me. It was an amazing moment.
This past November, while staying with my parents in Oregon, my mom and I watched "Troy the Locator" on tv. The show is about a man who dedicates his time to helping people find lost loved ones. He has a ton of resources available to him and seems to get the job done very well. After about two tear filled episodes, my mom told me I should write the show and see if they would consider helping me find my birthmother. So I shot of an email thinking that there wasn't a snow ball's chance seeing as how I was one of thousands writing in every day.
My husband, Dave, asked if I would send him a copy of the email. A short time after getting it, he called me telling me he had never really understood how important it was to me to find her. He wanted to help me find her. Being the former detective that he is, he jumped right in. He pulled out my adoption packets and looked through all the information. He found a birthdate for my birth mother that the agency had forgotten to black out and set to work. The next day he called me and told me he had found 150 Marias with that date of birth. It would take some work narrowing it down. My mom spoke up and said she had heard from someone at the agency that my birth mother had moved to Alaska. So Dave calls back and tells me he has searched for Marias with that date of birth in Alaska. And there was only 1. I started freaking out a little. He told me not to get my hopes up and said he'd call me with more information. The next day, he told me he had contacted the neighbor of "Maria Works" and was able to determine that she was from California, she was hispanic. She was married with two boys and worked at a Safeway. Dave had explained to the neighbor why he was looking for her and the neighbor agreed to "feel out" the situation and give Maria Works his number.
Three days later I get a phone call from Dave. "I just got off the phone with your birthmother." This is when I really started to freak out. "I wasn't sure if it was her so I kind of skirted around the issue about and asked about California. But when I told her I was calling on behalf of my with 'Kristin NAOMI' she yelled into the phone that she had been waiting for this call for ages. She has been dying to find you and wants to talk with you."
All I could do was stare at the phone. My mom was ecstatic and couldn't wait to get all the details. I sat and stared at the wall for a bit. I wasn't really sure what to think or do. I had been looking for this woman for most of my life. This was a day I had waited for for oh so long. At that moment I didn't realize I could feel so many different emotions at one time. It was overwhelming. But the feeling I was most overcome by was fear. And I really didn't have anything to be fearful of. The fear of her not wanting to talk to me was nonexistent. The fear of her not being alive didn't matter any longer. It was the fear that the woman I had always thought of would exist. That I would be somehow let down by the real thing.
It took me three days to push that fear aside and make that phone call. It was amazing. We talked for 3 hours. Hearing her voice and her laugh was an incredible feeling. It was so similar to mine in so many ways. Learning that she loved music as much as I do, that we have the same sense of humor, that we both tend to smell absolutely everything... all music to my ears. Dave had sent her pictures of me and she commented immediately that I was "a Mendoza". My last name was Mendoza! She also told me that I have two younger half brothers who are dying to meet me. It was an amazing moment.
Reunions part 1
**Finding my birth mother has been an amazing experience. I wanted to keep record of all of it for myself and to share my happiness with my friends. There is much to share and, due to the mind boggling lenght of my last blog, I decided to split this up into a few parts. Hopefully it will help me keep my thoughts a bit more organized and will keep others from being overwhelmed with reading it.**
Today holds a special significance for me - aside from the fact that this is the day that I was born on. I'm pretty well sure anyone who is reading this blog knows that I am adopted. For those of you who didn't, you know now. 29 years ago I was given up for adoption. About 2 months ago I was reunited with the woman who gave birth to me. Here's the story...
My birth mother was in high school when she gave birth to me. Before I was taken into foster care, she had be christened with the name "Naomi". My parents like the name so much they kept it, calling me Kristin Naomi Burton. In many ways it was the only tangible thing of her I had. I spent my life knowing I was adopted. My adopted parents always talked about my adoption in a way that helped me understand how much of a blessing it truly was. When children at school would make fun of me, my parents taught me to see it as something different about me that made me incredibly special. Ever since I was a little girl I had wanted to meet my birth mother. I have had dreams throughout my life of meeting a faceless woman. In the dreams I had always known she is my birth mother but I wake up frustrated because I never see anything more than the outline of a figure and a voice that sounds very much like mine.
The only information I have on either of my birth parents is the packet given to me by the social worker. It is filled with physical descriptions and some information about their situation at the time but that has only been enough information to torment me with all that I don't know. There is so much more to a person than a short biography on a piece of paper. What does she look like? Do my hands look like hers? Do I smile or laugh like she does? Does she think of me as often as I think of her? Is she happy and healthy? The question that weighed heaviest on my mind was "who do I look like"? For some this wouldn't be a big deal. But I don't look much like my adoptive family. I'm hispanic and the rest of them are all German, English or Irish. At family reunions I stick out like a sore thumb. I felt that knowing who I looked like would give me some sort of connection to a bit of who I was, genetically speaking anyway.
I have lived an incredibly blessed life. My adopted parents, Curt and Kathy Burton, are the most giving and loving people I have ever known. They had both encouraged me throughout the years to find my birth mother. I had tried numerous times over the years. I had even driven to the high school I thought she went to in San Diego and spent hours looking through the year books. But I always came up short. After so many dead ends I felt pretty defeated and gave up for a time.
Today holds a special significance for me - aside from the fact that this is the day that I was born on. I'm pretty well sure anyone who is reading this blog knows that I am adopted. For those of you who didn't, you know now. 29 years ago I was given up for adoption. About 2 months ago I was reunited with the woman who gave birth to me. Here's the story...
My birth mother was in high school when she gave birth to me. Before I was taken into foster care, she had be christened with the name "Naomi". My parents like the name so much they kept it, calling me Kristin Naomi Burton. In many ways it was the only tangible thing of her I had. I spent my life knowing I was adopted. My adopted parents always talked about my adoption in a way that helped me understand how much of a blessing it truly was. When children at school would make fun of me, my parents taught me to see it as something different about me that made me incredibly special. Ever since I was a little girl I had wanted to meet my birth mother. I have had dreams throughout my life of meeting a faceless woman. In the dreams I had always known she is my birth mother but I wake up frustrated because I never see anything more than the outline of a figure and a voice that sounds very much like mine.
The only information I have on either of my birth parents is the packet given to me by the social worker. It is filled with physical descriptions and some information about their situation at the time but that has only been enough information to torment me with all that I don't know. There is so much more to a person than a short biography on a piece of paper. What does she look like? Do my hands look like hers? Do I smile or laugh like she does? Does she think of me as often as I think of her? Is she happy and healthy? The question that weighed heaviest on my mind was "who do I look like"? For some this wouldn't be a big deal. But I don't look much like my adoptive family. I'm hispanic and the rest of them are all German, English or Irish. At family reunions I stick out like a sore thumb. I felt that knowing who I looked like would give me some sort of connection to a bit of who I was, genetically speaking anyway.
I have lived an incredibly blessed life. My adopted parents, Curt and Kathy Burton, are the most giving and loving people I have ever known. They had both encouraged me throughout the years to find my birth mother. I had tried numerous times over the years. I had even driven to the high school I thought she went to in San Diego and spent hours looking through the year books. But I always came up short. After so many dead ends I felt pretty defeated and gave up for a time.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Life, Love and other mysteries
**A warning for those of you about to read this. It is lengthy and probably rambles a bit. But it is one of those things that comes from the heart. For those of you who take the time to read it, God bless your patience! For those of you who don't... I don't blame you for finding the task daunting but I hope you give in a read it nonetheless.**
This past month, on January 5th, Dave and I celebrated our 2 year wedding anniversary. It has only been a short time that we have been married but both of us chuckled about the fact that it feels quite a bit longer than 2 years.
Married life is an interesting thing. No matter how well you feel you are prepared for it, you have no idea what you are getting into. I imagine it is much like having a child. You are never fully ready but you wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
There is much to be learned from being married. One would think this a pretty obvious thing. After all you are taking two people who hardly know each other, sticking them in the same house, sharing the same bed and the same bathroom. Each has their own personality and, most often, they pair up with the person most opposite them. At first it is all goo-goo eyes and giggles, but then the personalities start to come out. Like two polarized magnets being forced together, the differences become glaringly apparent. The things in your mate that you thought were so cute and quirky at first wear your nerves. They are SO far from perfect. They are completely impossible to understand. They don't do things the way you do them. I mean, doesn't everyone fold their socks the same way? What is wrong with them??? You start to look at your beloved through an entirely different pair of uber-critical eyes and find yourself unhappy with what you see. This is where the rubber meets the road.
I realize that all of the above stated information has been published in every book on marriage or habits of the opposite sex that has ever existed. I had no idea how true any of it was until I found myself looking through, and being looked at through, those same disapproving eyes.
Its tough. In my case, I had spent 27 years of my life living and doing things a certain way. It is who I am... what I've always done. Now I'm married to a man who does things quite differently.
We are complete opposites. I am a fly-be-the-seat-of-your-pants type. I take life as it comes and enjoy the ride. He is the plan ahead type. He is prepared for anything and everything that comes his way. I am incredibly unorganized. I live in a perpetual state of what I call "organized chaos". My system makes no sense to anyone else, but it makes perfect sense to me. My husband is on of the most clean and meticulous people I've ever met. I drive him absolutely up the wall! I am a social person. My life is filled with people I care about and I love spending time with them. Socialization is not that high up on my husband's list of priorities. This has been the cause of more than one disagreement on what to do on a Saturday night. I can be extremely stubborn and prideful. He can... well, he can be stubborn and prideful. All in all, we have the propensity to push each other to the edge on occasion.
Which brings me to the whole point of this marriage thing. I have spent the majority of these two years trying to figure out how to live with someone so different. What is it that needs to change so I can tolerate him better? I've tried changing him... we all know that doesn't work. I've studied the school of learning to accept the things about him that you can't stand. That works every so often although it does little more than buy me some time before my next annoyance. I've tried the accentuate the positive approach. However, for some reason I think married life comes with some sort of "look at the positive" inhibitor.
Then there is always the "keep it the same" approach. After all, you are who you are and no one should try to change you right? So you keep on keeping on - squeezing the toothpaste from the top of the tube, leaving your keys wherever you toss them, forgetting to turn off the lights when you leave the room. No big deal. In the meantime, your spouse is probably pulling their hair out wondering why you can't just do things they way they do it. But hey, that's their problem. I am me. You should love me just the way I am.
Yes, there is some truth in that last statement. I should be loved for who I am. But the biggest thing I have misunderstood about marriage is that the whole nature of "me" has changed. I am Kristin, Dave's wife. He and I are now one. When I said "I do" I committed to starting down the path of life hand in hand with my husband. There is little I will do that will not affect him and vice versa. Any refusal to change on my part will not only affect him but also the relationship. So by choosing to live my life however I want it without any thought of my husband, I am making the ultimate selfish decision. Sure I would probably be happy doing my own thing, but who wants to live selfishly?
I've been spending alot of time in Philippians and 1 Corinthians during my Bible times. I keep reading about what love is. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
Ouch! Can I honestly look at that and say that I hold to the majority of those things on any given day? No, I can't. Especially not if I'm living my life looking out for myself. So that does that say about how I treat the people I love? Not much. Ok. I'll do whatever it is I need to do to make the people around me happy. I'll do whatever my husband asks. That's all I need to do right? Oh, so wrong. I've tried for years to follow this rule. Seems easy enough but it is just a con job. I put on this self sacrificing act in order to make myself feel better about how I'm treating people. But there is no change of the heart. My motive is still making my life easier and easing my conscious. How would I like it if the tables were turned? I already know that I can see right through people when they apply the same band-aid solution to the way they treat me. I hate it! I would be a fool to think they can't see the same in me.
This got me thinking. Would I be able to live with myself just the way that I am? If I'm honest with myself the answer is no. Truth be told, just about every part of myself that irritates my husband is an area of my life that I wish I was better in. I honestly want to more organized. I would love to be a better housekeeper. I would love to be able to plan ahead more practically. I don't want to be so stubborn and proud. I don't want to selfishly look out for my own interests.
What it all boils down to is that I'm not trying to learn how to live with my husband. I'm trying to figure out how to live with the worst parts of me. What do I need to do to fix those parts of me that I honestly can't stand? I need to wake up every day and focus on what it is I need to change to make me better.
Sound selfish? Maybe on the surface. But think about it... if we, who tend to avoid looking inward, can manage to take a gander and recognize all the nasty stuff inside our ourselves it is a pretty safe bet the people closest to us have seen that part of us first. By changing those parts, we are not only making ourselves better but we are presenting a much better person to those we care about. Its hard to act on your own interests when the very nature of those interests embarrasses or disgusts you. Each time I set my own interests aside leaves more room for me to focus on what I can do for someone else. And who can benefit more from that than my spouse. I love him with all my heart. He is an incredible man and I can't image my life with any other. Why wouldn't I want to give him the best of everything?
So I'm going to get up in the morning and take a good, hard look at myself. I know I'm not going to like everything I see. Thats good. I know where to start. I know I'm going to screw up. It is in my makeup to look out for myself first. But my hope and prayer is that with each success and failure I will focus more on what I need to change and less about what is wrong with everyone else. Every good day can be looked at as a win for those I care about and every loss a solid reminder that life isn't all about me.
And Thank God it isn't...
This past month, on January 5th, Dave and I celebrated our 2 year wedding anniversary. It has only been a short time that we have been married but both of us chuckled about the fact that it feels quite a bit longer than 2 years.
Married life is an interesting thing. No matter how well you feel you are prepared for it, you have no idea what you are getting into. I imagine it is much like having a child. You are never fully ready but you wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
There is much to be learned from being married. One would think this a pretty obvious thing. After all you are taking two people who hardly know each other, sticking them in the same house, sharing the same bed and the same bathroom. Each has their own personality and, most often, they pair up with the person most opposite them. At first it is all goo-goo eyes and giggles, but then the personalities start to come out. Like two polarized magnets being forced together, the differences become glaringly apparent. The things in your mate that you thought were so cute and quirky at first wear your nerves. They are SO far from perfect. They are completely impossible to understand. They don't do things the way you do them. I mean, doesn't everyone fold their socks the same way? What is wrong with them??? You start to look at your beloved through an entirely different pair of uber-critical eyes and find yourself unhappy with what you see. This is where the rubber meets the road.
I realize that all of the above stated information has been published in every book on marriage or habits of the opposite sex that has ever existed. I had no idea how true any of it was until I found myself looking through, and being looked at through, those same disapproving eyes.
Its tough. In my case, I had spent 27 years of my life living and doing things a certain way. It is who I am... what I've always done. Now I'm married to a man who does things quite differently.
We are complete opposites. I am a fly-be-the-seat-of-your-pants type. I take life as it comes and enjoy the ride. He is the plan ahead type. He is prepared for anything and everything that comes his way. I am incredibly unorganized. I live in a perpetual state of what I call "organized chaos". My system makes no sense to anyone else, but it makes perfect sense to me. My husband is on of the most clean and meticulous people I've ever met. I drive him absolutely up the wall! I am a social person. My life is filled with people I care about and I love spending time with them. Socialization is not that high up on my husband's list of priorities. This has been the cause of more than one disagreement on what to do on a Saturday night. I can be extremely stubborn and prideful. He can... well, he can be stubborn and prideful. All in all, we have the propensity to push each other to the edge on occasion.
Which brings me to the whole point of this marriage thing. I have spent the majority of these two years trying to figure out how to live with someone so different. What is it that needs to change so I can tolerate him better? I've tried changing him... we all know that doesn't work. I've studied the school of learning to accept the things about him that you can't stand. That works every so often although it does little more than buy me some time before my next annoyance. I've tried the accentuate the positive approach. However, for some reason I think married life comes with some sort of "look at the positive" inhibitor.
Then there is always the "keep it the same" approach. After all, you are who you are and no one should try to change you right? So you keep on keeping on - squeezing the toothpaste from the top of the tube, leaving your keys wherever you toss them, forgetting to turn off the lights when you leave the room. No big deal. In the meantime, your spouse is probably pulling their hair out wondering why you can't just do things they way they do it. But hey, that's their problem. I am me. You should love me just the way I am.
Yes, there is some truth in that last statement. I should be loved for who I am. But the biggest thing I have misunderstood about marriage is that the whole nature of "me" has changed. I am Kristin, Dave's wife. He and I are now one. When I said "I do" I committed to starting down the path of life hand in hand with my husband. There is little I will do that will not affect him and vice versa. Any refusal to change on my part will not only affect him but also the relationship. So by choosing to live my life however I want it without any thought of my husband, I am making the ultimate selfish decision. Sure I would probably be happy doing my own thing, but who wants to live selfishly?
I've been spending alot of time in Philippians and 1 Corinthians during my Bible times. I keep reading about what love is. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
Ouch! Can I honestly look at that and say that I hold to the majority of those things on any given day? No, I can't. Especially not if I'm living my life looking out for myself. So that does that say about how I treat the people I love? Not much. Ok. I'll do whatever it is I need to do to make the people around me happy. I'll do whatever my husband asks. That's all I need to do right? Oh, so wrong. I've tried for years to follow this rule. Seems easy enough but it is just a con job. I put on this self sacrificing act in order to make myself feel better about how I'm treating people. But there is no change of the heart. My motive is still making my life easier and easing my conscious. How would I like it if the tables were turned? I already know that I can see right through people when they apply the same band-aid solution to the way they treat me. I hate it! I would be a fool to think they can't see the same in me.
This got me thinking. Would I be able to live with myself just the way that I am? If I'm honest with myself the answer is no. Truth be told, just about every part of myself that irritates my husband is an area of my life that I wish I was better in. I honestly want to more organized. I would love to be a better housekeeper. I would love to be able to plan ahead more practically. I don't want to be so stubborn and proud. I don't want to selfishly look out for my own interests.
What it all boils down to is that I'm not trying to learn how to live with my husband. I'm trying to figure out how to live with the worst parts of me. What do I need to do to fix those parts of me that I honestly can't stand? I need to wake up every day and focus on what it is I need to change to make me better.
Sound selfish? Maybe on the surface. But think about it... if we, who tend to avoid looking inward, can manage to take a gander and recognize all the nasty stuff inside our ourselves it is a pretty safe bet the people closest to us have seen that part of us first. By changing those parts, we are not only making ourselves better but we are presenting a much better person to those we care about. Its hard to act on your own interests when the very nature of those interests embarrasses or disgusts you. Each time I set my own interests aside leaves more room for me to focus on what I can do for someone else. And who can benefit more from that than my spouse. I love him with all my heart. He is an incredible man and I can't image my life with any other. Why wouldn't I want to give him the best of everything?
So I'm going to get up in the morning and take a good, hard look at myself. I know I'm not going to like everything I see. Thats good. I know where to start. I know I'm going to screw up. It is in my makeup to look out for myself first. But my hope and prayer is that with each success and failure I will focus more on what I need to change and less about what is wrong with everyone else. Every good day can be looked at as a win for those I care about and every loss a solid reminder that life isn't all about me.
And Thank God it isn't...
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