We're the Same

  

via retronaut.com

When we were first married, I used to facetiously insist that my husband and I match and share everything.
"We have to be the same," I would say, "Because we're married."

It drove him crazy, and I loved it.  I would order what he'd order at restaurants.
"Because we're married," I'd whisper and wink seductively.
And he'd roll his eyes and laugh.
"You're weird."
"Yeah, and you married me... how do you feel now?"

Yesterday, I taught a piano lesson to a grandmother.  I love teaching her because she's so full of truth and she gets as worked up over my new table as I do.
"We all need that one person,"she said to me over the F scale, "That we can swear at in anger and they will still love us without judgement because they know our hearts."

She is so right.

That person, for me, is my Savior.
But how wonderful and glorious would it be if I had another person like that... and that person were my husband?  Provided the Savior is the FIRST person I go to for safety, the idea of having my spouse be another person I can swear at and still be received with love?  The idea seems ethereal.

When my husband came home from work, I confessed to him that I was afraid to make mistakes in front of him.
"I know I have a temper... I'll try harder to..."
But I cut him off there.  That wasn't what I was driving at. 
"The thing is," I said, "I don't think you're comfortable making mistakes around me either... I think we both feel like the other will judge our actions."
And he nodded.
And then we had a moment... the kind of moment Nicholas Sparks DOESN'T expound on.  The "hey, we both suck at marriage and we suck TOGETHER" kind of moment.

Okay, so we don't suck at marriage totally... but you understand what I'm saying.  It was special.  A Dear Diary kind of thing.  Or Dear Bloggery.  Whatever.

I took his face in my hands, looked into his eyes and said, "I want to feel comfortable making mistakes in front of you."
And then we both laughed, but I wouldn't let go of his bearded face, "Say it back to me... do it.... do it..."
"I want to feel comfortable making mistakes in front of you," he echoed.
"Even if it's hard," I said.
"Even if it's hard," he echoed.
"Even if it's scary," I said.
"Even if it's scary," he echoed.
"Even if it hurts," I said.
Instantly, his eyes filled with fear.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked.
I dropped his face and laughed.

Oh, we have a long row to hoe.
We are the same... because we're married.
Turns out, I was right all along.  Sad...

Equality in the Kingdom

The night before I rushed my husband and confessed my Evil Doings of '09, he confessed some things to me.  Our confessions were pretty similar.

But after his confession, he was very romantic, taking me in his arms and telling me how pure I was -how he respected me, couldn't believe I'd stuck around...
And I sort of, well, squirmed.  He could sense that I wasn't feeling the feelings he was feeling, and he kept saying, "I wish I could just transfer my feelings to you right now so you would understand."

The trouble was: I DID understand.
I understood After the Confession Comes the Honeymoon.

In 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, and 2010, I loved the honeymoon.  I reveled in it.  It was the place I was SURE we ought to be all of the time and constantly and forever and ever amen.
In the honeymoon phase, I was up on a pedestal.  He was down on his knees. 
I was beautiful.
I was his everything.
He did my dishes, rubbed my feet, bought me gifts.

Of course he did, and he OUGHT to have because I deserved it.  I mean, after all.  AFTER ALL.  Remember what was going on? 
Porn, lies, rinse repeat.  I deserved to be...

WORSHIPED.

I lived for the honeymoon phase, even made extra certain to train my husband by way of positive reinforcement that Honeymooning was THE WAY.  He would do whatever I asked because he felt he owed it to me BECAUSE I TRAINED HIM UP IN THAT MANNER.  And for what it's worth, I'm a helluva trainer.

But the other night when I felt that old familiar feeling... when I felt his words work as a mechanical jack to lift me up higher, higher, higher... I became very uncomfortable.
"You have no idea how much I love you."  *jack, jack, jack*
"You're pure, you're amazing, you're such an amazing woman." *jack, jack, jack*

I finally had to explain to him, "You have to understand that for years, we've always entered a honeymoon phase like this after confessions, so I'm just very leery.  Plus, I know if these are your true feelings you'll naturally act on them as time goes by and I'll FEEL the truth of them, and that's more important than hearing them anyway."

The next night, I came tumbling down, down, down.

As we drove to the Temple last night, I was finally able to put to words what I was feeling.
"I'm grateful, in a weird way, that I had something to confess to you.  I didn't realize I needed to confess it until I realized that you were being transparent about similar things with me, and honestly: I hadn't even thought about it in years.  But when I remembered and recognized it for what it was, I went straight to you and confessed.  And I'm so grateful, because it ripped us right out of... I don't know... After you confess to me, you put me up higher than you.  You feel unworthy.  And I AM royal, but..."
At this point, I started crying because I'm female.
"... YOU are royal and I am not courting a pauper.  We are equal.  My confession put me equal with you.  At least, it helped you to see me as an equal and it tore the pedestal down, and I am so glad.  I am not higher than you.  I'm not better or higher because I don't have a porn addiction.  And I can't tell you enough how SORRY I am that I trained you to believe that I deserved to be higher than you.  I didn't understand how wrong it was.  But I do now, and I regret it."

And then I said it.

"I don't want to be worshiped.  I want to be loved."

He was quiet for a minute, and then he said, "It did feel good to know that you're not as perfect at this stuff as I thought."

In the Temple, I was struck with the idea of equality: this is a big deal for me because I've spent my entire life viewing people in a caste system.
Better than.
Less than.
It's fueled depreciating and judgmental thoughts in me my entire life.

But there in a quiet place where everyone was dressed in white and whispering, I could see them all as my brothers and sisters... royal blood coursing through their veins.
A beautiful aged woman sat next to me, unable to control the tremblings in her body.  I was given the opportunity to help her on occasion, and one time she reached out to touch my hand, but retreated.
She didn't know me.
But oh, I wanted her to hold my hand.  How I wanted to look in her eyes.
My sister, my friend.

I LOVE that woman.  I loved the pregnant woman behind me, and the beautiful familiar face that came in at the last to help with the rest of the workers: the widow of my old metal shop and automotive teacher.  He passed away IN the temple, and what a way to go!

It makes me ache that others have understood this from the time they were small, but I haven't.  I was raised without a present mother.  When I was as small as my baby daughter is now, my mother was suddenly gone, and she never fully mentally returned during my formative years.
My father did the best be could, but I always always always believed in the caste system. 

I loved myself only for WHAT I was -not WHO I am. 
I love myself for my gift to write, to make others laugh, to cook, to serve, to quote movies.
But in my baby state, the state of lying down with nothing to offer but poop and pleas for assistance... I don't love myself.

My prayer now is to understand what I know: that I am a child, a royal, priceless child.
My prayer is to love WHO I am, which love I believe with naturally accompany the knowledge of who I am.
My prayer is to see others in the exact same light.
My prayer is that my marriage to My Son of God will flourish, that our reign will be sanctified and made holy.

The Atonement is an absolute miracle.