I'm in this hard part of revisiting my vocation as a wife and mother. From my new buddy, Blessed Fulton Sheen (thanks for the introduction Bonnie E) I'm learning that I'm supposed to be a "missionary" to my spouse and he's supposed to be a missionary to me. It's such a foreign concept, I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around it.
Then I remembered Brianna's* beautiful "this is the real love behind" adoption post where she said "it's difficult to take a damaged human being into your house and know that some deep hurts are not going to be healed until heaven--but we stand with Christ to love this child anyway."
That is the true intimacy of marriage.
I'm that broken Ukrainian orphan that my husband took into his home. I literally was left in a crib for with 9 other babies with two caretakers for over 12 hours a day starting at six weeks old. (That was enlightened daycare in the 1970s). What did that do to my soul? How is Jesus going to heal that?
I don't know.
I do know that I come down with a sudden attack of hay fever last Tuesday and I started flipping out because I can't get up out of bed and take care of my family's needs for dinner. It's this deep question of "Who am I if I'm not constantly producing something of value for my family. Who am I if I have to take love in instead of constantly give love out?"
My husband has voluntarily married a broken shell of a girl who starts dissolving into tears over having HAYFEVER.
We haven't even gotten to the "throwing up from chemo" yet, and I'm already a mess. Clearly, the man has fertile soil for missionary work!
So when I start freaking out about this task that my husband is undertaking, its so reassuring to think about Carla, Dayna, Karey, Lauren, et al. These are women who have flown or driven hundreds of miles, and taken on scary medical conditions, and first loved children from grainy, unflattering photographs. I see from their blogs that this "missionary" arm of the domestic church is beautiful and wonderful and a critical part of our vocation.
So thank you.
And pray for me. My goal this Fall is to try to tenderly embrace myself during the scary Anxiety attacks that I like to pretend are not a part of the "real Abby."
*I can't even find Brianna's blog to link to this great post b/c that's what kind of week its been, but hopefully I will get that link active soon. Thanks for your patience.