I shake my fist

Don't you hate it when you hear someone say something that you know is true, you want to deny their validity, and then they prove their point well after the fact? It's possible that you have no idea what I'm talking about. It's also possible that I just make no sense.

But it makes sense to me.

The worst is when that person hasn't the slightest clue that you are even at odds with them - so it makes you feel that much worse when they turn out to be right.

All this to say - curse Dan Allender. Not really. He's one of my professors and is a brilliant and thoughtful man. But, damn, I really hate when he's right! One of the classes that I took from him, which he co-taught with Steve Call, was Marriage and Family last Spring. A focal point in his teaching here was on the curse that men and women face, and continue to face, as a result of the Fall (Gen. 3). While men and women certainly have the capacity to carry most of the same characteristics, his argument is that men carry the slightest bit more strength, while women carry the slightest bit more tenderness than one another. ((I'm going to attempt spare you the entire term's worth of material while still being clear here)). Dan claims that because of this minimal, yet significant, difference between men and women, the result of the Fall is that men will forever struggle with futility while women will struggle with loneliness. Loneliness and futility - the plagues of humanity.

I wanted him to be wrong. Oh, I wanted him to be so wrong. But I knew he was right - even before I got married.

So, now I'm married. And these dynamics are exploding all over the place in our little one bedroom apartment. I have to tell you, these first few weeks (now months) of marriage have been terribly lonely for me. Not necessarily because of anything T is or isn't, but I have felt an ache and longing for the women that I lived with last year in the House of Love that has been unexpectedly incapacitating. I weep often over the loss of that house and the community that they were with me. That group of women was something so uniquely rich and I know there will be nothing else ever like them. Facing this fact head on, while staring my "forever" commitment in the face over the dinner table, has been difficult to bear.

T has been such a dear support during this difficult transition. I knew I would miss that house, but I thought I was ready. I thought I was ready to get married, but what I didn't realize was how not ready I was to give up those women. Obviously I can't have it all. I don't regret for a second saying "I do" to my wonderful, patient, and compassionate husband, but my heart is grieving over that significant loss. Unfortunately for T, this means that his efforts are futile. There is absolutely nothing he can do or say to be that house. He can't be a women, he certainly can't be four women, and God knows he can't be those four women. T knows that, I know that. But it's a nasty pill for us both to try and swallow. He wants to be everything; I want him to be everything. There don't seem to be very many instances in a marriage in which both hubby and wifey completely agree on something; so when we do, why can't we have it?

I know the answer and I hate it.

Dan Allender - I shake my fist at you. (And then shudder with utmost respect and admiration). If I didn't mention it already, this is the same fellow who is also teaching my current Sexual Disorders class. He packs a punch.

So I am grieving. That's all there is to it. In order to aid in my grieving process, or perhaps prolong it, I have lots of great memories to reflect on. Below is a photo from an epic final sleepover at a Days Inn hotel before Natalie and I left for San Francisco (I tried to give you the video diary that we recorded that night, but my computer just wasn't having it. So sorry, a photo will have to do). Our last hurrah in Seattle all together! I love these women.

From one of my favorite poets, Rainer Maria Rilke's "Requiem for a Friend:"

We need, in love, to practice only this:

letting each other go.

For holding on comes easily;

we do not need to learn it.