As a newlywed back in 2008, I had just made myself a luscious bowl of yogurt and apples, garnished with oatmeal and cinnamon. I headed through the kitchen in my robe, cradling my precious breakfast as though it came from Le Cordon Bleu. In my fervor, I nearly collided with my bleary-eyed husband. Rather than his customary “Good morning, beautiful,” he looked down at my bountiful bowl and grumbled, “Wow. That’s a veritable truckload of oatmeal.”
The death of a honeymoon.
It seems to be a rite of passage for all of us, whether it be in relationships, “dream jobs,” child-rearing, or owning a boat. At some point, that thing that looked like it was the answer to all our problems becomes rife with … flaws. What do we do then? When that glowing vision becomes marred with bits of shadow, is it time to find a new dream? Or is it time to start working?
A psychologist who specializes in neurofeedback therapy recently told me, “We don’t know why, but there is a honeymoon period with nearly every patient, regardless of their background. For the first three sessions, everything works great. After that, we start to get the REAL results. We can see where the left and right side of the brain have a breakdown in communication. Then, the good work begins, and life can get a lot more fun!”
Think of it. The “fun” begins when the work becomes visible. Work jolts us out of the useless rut of fantasy and into the deep joys of reality. It is to be faced, not avoided. It can even be our lifeline dropped from heavenly places.
As a missionary in China during the mid-1900’s, Gladys Aylward was asked to stop a murderous riot in a prison camp. After the inmates miraculously stopped their brawling, she asked one man what they had been doing that started the fight. “Doing?” he asked. “We were doing the same thing we do every day—sitting and waiting for the day to end.” In the months that followed, Aylward secured looms, yarn, and a grain mill. She taught the men to make their own clothes and food, and even bought rabbits for them to breed and sell. She brought light into the darkness through the dignity of work.
Two years ago, my husband, our kids, and I settled into a property that exuded a “dream come true.” Wide open fields, forests, and a huge pond in the backyard promised 9 acres of memory-building goodness. The prospect of owning land thrilled my heart. I could see myself writing and thinking, hidden in my woods, listening to the leaves falling. The clacking of my keyboard keys would deliver a fitting retort to the woodpecker tapping overhead.
Not that simple. Land demands “ruling and subduing” in order to be a habitable place. We burn fallen trees, swing sledgehammers, wrestle with rototillers and go “scorched earth” on any sign of poison ivy. We pull weeds the size of trees, hack at the hard Georgia clay, and rake a steady stream of cut fescue, pine straw, and leaves. These days of shovels and callouses, however, only sweeten the days of lemonade and sunshine. It’s a beautiful thing.
When the honeymoons end, what if our eyes adjusted to see that those shadows creeping in actually add depth to a picture that had been sterile and one-dimensional? We all must work to keep relationships, businesses, and families afloat. Can we see that work as a gift? As the tool used to carve lines of meaning into life?
My husband has now learned to give me a wide berth when I’m eating. And his statement that made a new bride cry? It has led to years of laughter, another artful brushstroke on the portrait of our marriage. Worth it.
“Gladys Aylward: The Adventure of a Lifetime”; Janet and Geoff Benge, YWAM Publishing, 1998.
