I See You

I See You

“Sawubona”. It means, “I see you and you are important to me”, in Zulu.

I didn’t know Zulu.

We were married at 19. I knew her for five weeks prior. I loved her with all the depth of a teenage boy. And she loved me as a teenage girl will. From most contemporary insights, this was not a good idea. Our first year was hell.

She soon realized this man was no bargain. And I wasn’t. No job skills or education. I’d been wandering since I left home at seventeen. I’d been hit by the Jesus Revolution and ended up on a commune in east Texas. I really wanted to get laid. The Jesus context meant ‘get a wife’. So, I prayed for one. “God”, I said, “I want her to be short, brunette, and know how to sew”. That’s not exactly, “I love you and I’m committing myself to you, and you are safe with me, physically, emotionally, and in every other way possible”, is it? I charmed her out of college and suggested we get married and then hitchhike out to California. What was she thinking?

She was the exact package I asked for, including sewing skills. (I’d been arrested on Maui for my falling-apart-shorts being too revealing, and I always needed repairs). But she refused to sew. My prayer wasn’t specific enough, I guess. That 95-pound, five-foot, brunette fox couldn’t cook either. I could cook but she demanded the kitchen for her domain. Fine, have at it. I’ll just compare you to my mom, the gourmet chef.

We also shared a room with a single guy. Not just an apartment, the bedroom. It was cheap, free actually. However, she thought it lacked the ambiance required for my romantic intentions. This marriage thing wasn’t meeting expectations. In her view, I held no respect, value, or future promise. She treated me like she herself felt, demeaned and rejected.

So, being a goodly Jesus freak I complained to God. “This woman, my bride, who You gave me, …” and then I listed all of her faults, which were many. Now if you’ve ever read the story of Adam and Eve you know that Adam did a similar thing. God asked him nicely, “What’s up? Why are you wearing those ugly leaves? Did you do what I told you not to do?” And Adam, knowing he was bare bottomed before God, replied, “That woman, who You gave me, made me do it.” So, God, being fair, asked the woman, “Did you do it?” And she answered, “No man, it was that snake You made.” Today this is called “Blame Shifting”. It was God’s fault this marriage sucked. Each of us, in our own mind, were victims.

There was that whole New Testament thing about the Church, being made of all the individual members, among whom I counted myself, (though not a very good one), which was God’s beloved bride. Which made it hurt, a stab wound in the middle of my chest, when I heard some words in my head in response to my complaint, “You oughta’ see Mine”. You might be thinking that God doesn’t talk like that. He/She/It probably doesn’t even speak English. Maybe you are right. How would I know, or how would you know for that matter? In the Bible God spoke to his prophet from the mouth of an ass. I suppose it’s at least within a biblical context for Him to speak inside the head of an ass. That Voice was implying that, if I was more like God, then she wouldn’t be the problem.

This required intention and choice. I went to her. “I see you. I’m meeting you again. I’m understanding you and you are important to me. I am at fault.” And, in her way, she responded, “I see you and I value you. I am at fault.” We had met after a long absence.

We lived happily ever after. Not.

Some kids came along; she lost her figure. We lived at half the federal poverty income level in a string of worn out, run down, rentals, dirt roads, and shelter sometimes without heat or running water. And the fire burned low. I wasn’t holding up some of the expectations for that love. But, “love is all you need” right? The fire went out.

To kindle it she said, “I see you. You are a warrior. A strong man. I trust you. I am at fault.” Who was this girl speaking words of incantation. Words of creation. Words powerful enough to bring transformation. They were a knife in the middle of my chest, forcing a choice. Responding to the magic, “I see you and I value you. I am at fault.” We met again after a long absence.

She wanted more. More than a run down rental. More than thrift store clothes. A car that could make it to town and back. We buried ourselves in kids sports. More and more we lived lines askew to each other. She did her thing. I did mine. In my view she’d changed. Those things had never been important before. I didn’t know how to make it happen. Anger, rage boiled up and out. It became the impulse of our speech to one another.

I started a business. I didn’t know anything about business and lost money. I lost more money. The stress was high, then higher. She was unhappy, shrill, accusatory. She knew I was thinking about elsewhere, anywhere. The kids left home. They started their own families. We bought a house. We bought cars. We had never had any debt, mainly since we never had money. But the business was starting to make it so ‘let’s value what successful people seem to value’. We traveled the world but mostly not together. This was unfulfilling. Gravity’s longsuffering toll pulled on our bodies. Stress devoured our hearts.

“I see you. I’m meeting you again. I’m understanding you and you are important to me. I am at fault.” And, in her way she responded, “I see you and I value you. I am at fault.” Who were these people?

We met again after a long absence.

Unceasing are the cycles. She is no longer brunette but silver. I am too. We can afford to buy clothes. We’ve lost a child. Our child lost a child. These events left us crawling and drowning in dark places, which we express differently. She is not the naïve teenager of our wedding day. I am not the loser with no prospects. She is not the busy mother of three. I am no longer fighting for provisions. She has blossomed in spite of life with me, into a wise woman. Grief has set claws in her, and raked me as well. We bear scars. Some of these mementos we engraved on the other. The carvings of bitter art. But other brushes have created beauty and healing aglow with a thousand dawns, a million rivers, a billion sunsets… We have been becoming.

Nobody gets to be married to the person they stood with on the wedding day for their whole life. At one year, five, twenty-five, fifty, each of us have changed, perhaps values have shifted, our youth may have flown. Each becomes unrecognizable. Survivors are those who are able to explore this new and different person. “I see you. I’m meeting you again. I’m understanding you, and you are important to me. I am at fault.”

We met after a long absence.