For Women Only

A few weeks ago, Adam confessed to me that he'd read my "secret book." It took me a few minutes to realize he meant he'd read For Women Only, an advice book on marriage given to me by a shower guest last spring. The book is subtitled "What You Need to Know about the Inner Lives of Men." Naturally, I had been a bit skeptical. I just thanked the guest, brought it home, and put in on a shelf. How good could a book with such a silly, over-broad premise possibly be?

That's why Adam's verdict surprised me: "it's really insightful," he said. So I've been reading it over the past couple of days. I have to confess that little in the book so far has been particularly surprising. I've always taken for granted that I understand men pretty well generally--and Adam very well particularly. Chapters like "Why Your Respect Means More to Him than Even Your Affection" and "Why Your Mr. Smooth Looks So Impressive but Feels Like an Impostor" didn't offer much information I didn't already know.

But the book has been an excellent reminder of what I ought to do. The entire premise is that women do things to men they ought not to because they don't know better. But I often do things to Adam that I ought not and I do know better. I have no excuse.

In particular, I felt very unhappy with myself when I read the section about making fun of men in public. I love Adam and respect him more than any other man alive. I consider him skilled and capable--he does a wonderful job taking care of me already and we're not even living under the same roof. That's why, to me, his few failings are so adorable. They're incongruous in my eyes--ironic and funny. I like to point out funny things to other people. But it isn't okay if my jests make Adam feel less valued or respected.

To be fair to myself, I don't think I developed this bad habit on my own. Interactions with many other couples, sitcoms, commercials... pop culture encourages us to have gentle fun at the expense of our significant others. It's a dynamic that people interacting with young couples often expect or even encourage. It seems so ingrained that, even though I know it's wrong, I have a hard time imagining public life without good-natured jokes at Adam's expense.

Then I think back to my parents' marriage. No ones marriage is perfect, but I have never doubted my parents respect for each other. I've never seen my mother make fun of my father in public--or my father make fun of her, for that matter. My mother runs my father's business, so it's beautiful to see the faith they really have in each others' abilities. Everyone on their staff knows they feel this way about one another. In my memory, they've never even undermined each other's abilities at home in front of their children. My parents prove that it is possible to have a fun marriage without disrespecting each other for a laugh. Besides, there must be other ways to keep a party lively without embarrassing anecdotes--my parents are far more entertaining than I'll ever be.

Shaunti Feldhahn, the author of For Women Only, is right. My love for Adam, my desire for him to understand how much I appreciate and respect him--these things are far more important than a good joke. Making this sorts of jabs is a habit that may take a while to break. But I will do my best because I still believe that--after salvation and conversion--Adam is the greatest thing that has happened or ever will happen to me.

If the book continues to deliver insights, I'll continue to deliver posts. You can find out more about the book here. T-minus 25 days and counting!

Beatrico

After a brief hiatus in Georgia to pick up the new car (aka "the Millenium Falcon"), ...and Enide is back...

Over the past few days, Adam and I have found ourselves re-exploring Dante's Divina Comedia. Both of us read The Inferno in high school, but neither of us has ever explored the rest of the three-part poem in depth. I'm only now realizing how deprived I've been.

In The Inferno, Dante finds himself alone in a dark wood. Virgil (of Aneid fame) finds the frightened Dante and proposes that they both undertake a most surprising journey--through hell, past purgatory, into heaven. Virgil guides him through the nine circles of hell, protecting him from demons and monsters, until they escape hell and begin to climb the mountain of purgatory. Again, Virgil prove himself a loving and powerful guide through purgatory. At the gates of heaven, the pagan Virgil leaves Dante in the care of Dante's beloved Beatrice.

The first time I read the poem, I focused on Virgil. Virgil is Dante's guide in his imaginative realms of hell and purgatory, as well as a literary guide for the writing of the poem itself. I've only gradually realized that to pay attention only to Virgil--even in The Inferno and Purgatorio--is to completely miss the point. Beatrice is Dante's guide in the poem, and in his life, whether she is present or not.

In my own defense, I think I lacked the context to understand Beatrice's role when I read the poem as a Protestant. She's Dante's intercessor, the one who brings his cause before heaven. It's a role saints like Beatrice can only play when we accept the communion of all believers, living and dead. Even in the darkest pits of hell, Beatrice sends Dante help and hope.

But Beatrice is far more than intercessor. She's an active guide in Paradiso, but also in The Inferno and Purgatorio, as well as in the whole of Dante's life. Her name itself--meaning "bringer of gladness"--takes on an allegorical meaning. She is the person in which Dante sees God. She's no false idol for Dante, but a presence that makes him feel irradiated with God's love. Dante sees God in Beatrice. Thinking about her, writing about her, striving to reach the heaven in which she resides--all these things draw Dante closer to God. Her role as guide through heaven is the perfect allegorical fulfillment of her role in Dante's life.

That's a role I never understood until I fell in love. Adam is my "Beatrico." In his love, I feel God's love for me shining through. Adam's goodness and compassion give me a model for behavior, but by themselves draw me closer to God. He's not just my fiance and won't just be my husband. He's also a walking allegory, a representation of what God's love looks like and feels like. That's why I feel so strongly called to the vocation of marriage--the love of the man I hope to call my spouse draws me further up in and further in to God's love every day.

Loved

I submitted my dissertation on Friday. I'm finished. I have to say the whole thing felt like a bit of an anti-climax. The project that just started a series of goodbyes.

I've always felt uncomfortable trying to make friends. It's something Adam has continually chided me about. My "not-me" comes out when I don't want her, too and I just can't stand the thought of showing her to anyone.

It's taken me a long time to learn to feel loved. But I have been loved. By my family first. Then by Adam, who convinced me that unconditional love is possible. And I have been loved in Oxford. These past few days full of good-byes have really shown me how loved and appreciated I am.

I guess that sounds a little self-centered. But, when it comes down to it, learning how to be loved is, for some of us, a lot harder than learning to love. Learning to trust that Adam loves me has been one of the very hardest lessons I've had to learn as we've prepared for marriage. If I can't learn it, I know our marriage will be cursed by mistrust and self-doubt.

That's part of the reason I'm so very grateful for my friends in Oxford. I hope they all know what a life-changing experience friendship with them has been.


These are photos from two wonderful evenings with friends from the chaplaincy over the past two days. I'll try to post pictures with other friends soon. You're all loved, too!

The Problem of Modern Novels: Howards End and Marriage

If you've ever asked me if I've read a novel, you've probably gotten my token response: "Is the author still alive?" I just don't read modern literature. The snooty Medievalist comes out and wonders, "If it hasn't already withstood the test of time, how do I know it's worth my time to read it?" Besides, modern novels tend to be bleak, depressing with no uplifting moral at the end. They all seem to be about unstoppable decay or the loss of meaning. I don't want to read about those things. How are they going to make me happier or better?

I picked up a copy of E. M. Forster's Howards End from the Chaplaincy library in a moment of desperation for something to read. Being a modern novel, events were sure to disappoint the idealistic heroines who "desired that public life should mirror whatever is good in life within." When Margaret, the earnest protagonist marries the emotionally stunted capitalist, Mr. Wilcox, the reader can almost be ensured of tragedy. Her plan to love him--because "the more she let herself love him, the more chance was there that he would set his soul in order"--is surely set up to fail.

Imagine my surprise and delight to discover that Howards End is nothing I fear in modern novels. Instead of gradually leading readers into disillusionment with Margaret, the narrator helps us to slowly develop a respect for her quiet strenghth. Instead of agnostically challenging the value of love in a modern, transient world, Forster focuses our attention on the ever-increasing importance of marriage and stability. The titular home, Howards End, isn't symbolic for loss of place, as I originally expected. Instead, it's the place where the protagonists "stop," finally finding rest and peace in their love for each other.

In the end, against all odds--and against all of my expectations for a modern novel--Margaret's love really does redeem her husband. Her sisters describes it best: "You picked up the pieces and made us a home. Can't it strike you--even for a moment--that your life has been heroic?" There is something indomitably heroic about Margaret's life. Loving without counting the cost, with perfect faith in the goodness she sees within people if only someone has the patience and courage to draw it out. Nothing turns out for Margaret the way she plans. But, in her unwaivering support for her husband and her family, she makes a happy life for herself.

Adam says I don't like happy stories, but I think he misunderstands. I like stories with substance and meaning--those just often turn out to be the sad ones. I don't like most modern novels, but I do like Howards End. If Margaret's hopes were frustrated, if Forster affirmed the futility of human relationships, it would be a far less true book than it is the way it stands. Margaret has a happy ending, even though its nothing like she expected. And its because she had the courage to love.