We Were Fine

Chris left for six days in Rome Sunday morning shortly after I left for work.   I went to work; Sarah Katherine got herself and the other four to church; and we all reconvened Sunday evening after basketball practices, soccer banquets, yard work, play practice and homework.  We were fine.

On Monday Sarah Katherine and I were off work/school.  The other children went to school.  We cleaned house, did laundry, had lunch with friends, ran in the morning, walked with a friend in the afternoon, picked up from play practice, picked up frm basketball practice, went to ballet until we were all once again back under one roof sharing our day.  We were fine.

On Tuesday I returned to work, SK to school.  I officiated Morning Prayer, worked in the food and clothing closet, worked on my sermon, made pastoral calls,  made doctor/dentist appointments for the children, lunch with friends, finished announcements and the prayers for the bulletin, came home to run, and went to the grocery store before heading off to Caroline's basketball game and to pick up from dress rehearsal (stopping at Taco Bell for the Boss).  Everything was going fine--I was doing fine.  Chris and I had texted some, but the time difference makes things difficult and we weren't able to talk, until---

I was in Trader Joe's and the phone rang--it was Chris.  I answered and as I tried to multi-task; we shared our last three days.  We passed on the need to know information and we caught up.  Chris described where he was in Rome.  We love Rome--it is the only place we have ever gone (since our honeymoon) just the two of us for no other reason than to be together.  He said it was hard being there without me and he beautifully described the collesium all lit up in the clear evening sky.  I so wanted to be there.  And then he said, "But how are you doing?"  (read not what are you doing, not can you handle it without me, but how are you doing as in you the person I love and I miss.)  I choked up a little and said, "Fine.  I really should get checked out and get to the game."  We said I love you and hung up.

I finished checking out and headed to the car with a palpable ache in my heart and soul.  I thought to myself, "I was doing fine until he called.  I can do this fine; I just need him not to call."  And I considered texting him and telling him just that--please don't call anymore; it's easier for me.  I literally stopped in the parking lot--it hit me that if I sent him that text he would be so hurt, and I absolutely could not do that.  In order to avoid my own pain, I could not and would  not hurt him.

Loving someone completely brings great joy, great vulnerability, and sometimes great sorrow.  Loving someone completely doesn't mean you need them or what they can do for you but rather that you love them as they are for who they are and for the joy they bring to your life.  Sometimes loving someone completely means putting your own needs aside; sometimes it means exposing yourself; and sometimes it means pain will come.

And I wonder, how many times in our lives do we avoid love in order to avoid pain?  How many times do we reject love to reject pain?  How many people do we hurt to protect ourselves--to make it easier for ourselves?  How many times do we settle for just being fine?  It's worth considering....

Next to the hotel where we stayed