Down to the Wire: Learning to Dance

Adam and are great amateur dancers--at least in the literal sense of "amateur." We dance because we love it, not because we are any good at it. I've taken a few courses in ballroom and Latin dances, plus a year of ballet. Adam has dabbled in the waltz and swing. Put our combined inexperience together, add a sixteen-inch height difference, and you don't get a particularly winning combination.

But for us, it is a win. It has been really, really fun learning the Viennese waltz for our first dance together. We certainly don't have the time, talent, or skill for an elaborately choreographed wedding surprise, but we can dance competently and enjoy ourselves. Adam has put up with my one-sided criticisms and accidental toe-smashings with a smile on his face; I've learned how to keep my balance and sense of humor when my lead tumbles over in a dizzy heap. We've learned--albeit not mastered--a new skill... and we've done it together.

I guess the experience of learning to dance embodies most of the things I love best about our relationship. Part of learning to dance has been learning to cope with each others peculiarities--particularly the height difference, but also Adam's nervousness and my fools-rush-in attitude about trying new things. When we dance the Viennese waltz at the wedding to country waltz music, we will be acting on our tendency to be slightly out of sync with what's normal--but only slightly. Our friends have taught and encouraged us, so we've been able to incorporate a community of people who love us into an activity we were trying together. Best of all, though, dancing is just one of the "amateur" things we get to do together. We paint. We sing. We dance. We cook. We don't do anything expertly, but we're willing to try just about any new skill. Even when we fail, we have a great time.

Trying new things isn't part of what marriage is "about." But it is a part of what we're about. That's part of what I'm so grateful for Adam.

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!

Feeling "Supported"

A few days ago, I posted about the pleasure of learning to make "grown-up" decisions with Adam. The most difficult part of learning to think like a team has been learning to "own" each others decisions. We both tend to blame decisions that don't quite work out on each other, so it's been an interesting learning processing accepting someone else's ideas as our own decisions.

As for me, I like to blame boring evenings on Adam--"if we'd listened to me we would have had a lot more fun," etc. For Adam, learning to take responsibility for money we both spend has been more difficult. It's not that he's a cheapskate, but we need to be careful right now and he gets irritable when he thinks we aren't being. That's why I was especially nervous about asking him if we had the money for me to seek treatment for the chronic pain in my shoulders. Having tried everything else I could think of, I was ready to try acupuncture. I wasn't sure at all what Adam would say about such an expensive and somewhat questionable treatment.

I wasn't giving Adam enough credit. He completely accepted my need and my desire to try acupuncture. We sat down and talked about how to cut back on the budget and that we could afford a few visits to the acupuncturist before my job started. As I should have known, he never grumbled or complained about a legitimate expense.

But he didn't just support my decision financially--he invested himself in it. He actively encouraged me to find a doctor. He even came to the appointment with me--having him sit through my interview with the doctor and listen to my medical history was a surprisingly intimate experience. He sat in the room with me, calming my fears about needles. He even lay on the floor to talk to me through the hole in the table. (He said I looked like a chubby astronaut.)

I guess I learned from this experience that, even though we might fight about incidental expenses (which do, of course, add up), I should trust Adam to be willing to spend money where it is important. I learned to appreciate how supportive he is of me--financially, personally, physically, and spiritually. We're a team, partners. If we can learn to make responsible decisions without arguing in large matters, perhaps we can learn to make them in small matters, too.

Growing Up

I know getting married doesn't really coincide with "growing up" for many people anymore, but it does for Adam and me. Not that I don't respect graduate students as adults, and not that many of them don't have to support themselves far more than Adam and I did--but for Adam and I, this is our first try at a lot of grown-up things.

As inconvenient as it has been applying for an apartment from another country, trying to cope with health insurance, and trying to register a rebuilt, out-of-state car, these are all experiences I'm glad to have shared with Adam.

My parents got married at eighteen and, to be frank, had been largely taking care of themselves for years. Mom paid for Pop to go through law school. Pop worked as a janitor at UGA to help contribute. For extra money, they cleaned up repossessed mobile homes on the weekends. All of the first experiences of being grown up--health care, insurance, personal car ownership, apartment leasing--they experienced together. That was always one of my favorite things about my parents' relationship, a probable cause of the great closeness in their marriage today--thirty-five years later. My parents finished growing up together. It's given them a closeness, a trust in each other--and a youthful glow to their marriage--that I have never really seen in other couples' marriages.

I know we are never truly finished growing and changing. I sure hope to be someone better at fifty than I am at twenty-four. But I'm glad that this last bit of "growing-up," transitioning into adulthood, is something I can share with Adam. Dealing with the stresses and excitement has already drawn us closer as a couple. I hope that our shared experience continues to be an asset in our married life.

A Month To Go

Today marks the beginning of a month-long count down to our wedding!

But because both of our summer jobs feel through--and I've been spending about fifteen hours a day with Adam--it's hard to believe the wedding hasn't happened already. It's very difficult to imagine how different our lives will be. But I look forward to being a real grown-up with a full-time job and coming home to a husband whom I love.

Mamma Mia!

Adam and I watched Mamma Mia together three days ago. (I should have posted about it then, but I haven't been feeling very well. Apologies.) Just as I was when I saw the touring show and when I saw the movie the first time, I was again conflicted about the musical's dubious message about marriage.

In the musical, a young bride-to-be invites the three men who might be her father--none of whom she has ever met--to her wedding. Hilarity ensues. At the musical's climax, the protagonist finds herself satisfied with her family background. Her wish to find her family is fulfilled. So she cancels the wedding. She and her fiance won't marry now--they'll see the world together first.

Adam insists that they may well have made the right decision. She was using marriage to fill a whole in her life that she needed to fill some other way. Besides, they're young and may not be ready to spend their lives together yet. After all, he reminds me, we did important things with our lives and put off marriage for three years. People shouldn't rush into marriage.

In a way, I guess he's right. Marriage isn't a decision to take lightly or to rush into. But still, I think the musical portrays a destructive image of marriage. The hero and heroine don't want to go out and follow their dreams separately for a few years, as Adam and I did. They want to explore the world together--but they seem to think of marriage as some sort of impediment. Marriage, to them, seems to be a kind of kill joy, a choice to settle down and stay home after the adventures of youth are over.

That's not how I was raised to think of marriage. My parents have always insisted that marriage is its own adventure but, more than that, their married life has been actively exciting. They've traveled. They've run for public office. They've met the who's who of the Deep South. But the difference between my parents and the couple in Mamma Mia is this: my parents have sought and met adventure as a team. The hero and heroine of the musical go out into the world as separate individuals seeking the same adventures; my parents have done and do it as a single entity with a shared story to tell.

That's what I want for my marriage, too. I'm not ready to give up my adventure--though some might accuse me of being less adventurous than most. I'm ready to join my adventure to Adam so we can pursue our lives, our dreams, our vocations together.

The Ideal of Marriage?

I spend so much time on my blog talking about the ideal of marriage, the meaning of marriage, and the significance of marriage that I sometimes forget about what marriage--and relationships headed in that direction--actually look like. We're a fallen people in a fallen world. The ideal of marriage is an aspiration, not an achievable reality. It's easy to aspire to an ideal when your boyfriend is an ocean away, but somewhat harder when your fiance is in the room with you.

Take today for example. Adam and I set buying wedding rings as our daily goal. What started as an innocent internet search for DC-area jewelers turned into a senseless argument about how we ought to make decisions. When we took a few minutes to cool off before we sat down to talk about what happened, I couldn't help but think Is this really us? Is this the best we can do? I thought marriage was our vocation--why is this happening?

In the end, we learned a valuable lesson about listening and about communicating our expectations to each other. But, more than that, I learned something about ideals. I can't get upset when we fall short of them. It's going to happen. A fight doesn't mean we're not called to married life. It just means we're not perfect. And making up, reaching a compromise, loving each other anyway--these are special blessings in marriage for a fallen people.

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.

The Scarlet Pimpernel and Marriage

One of the fondest memories of former Brookewood seventh-graders seems to be reading Baroness Orczy's The Scarlet Pimpernel. Never one to willingly disappoint, I duly picked up the novel to read over the summer so I could read it with my new students when the school year starts. So, when my maid of honor forced me to watch The Scarlet Pimpernel on DVD, I was shocked and appalled by the shear banality of the story.

The film tells the story of an outrageous fop who secretly helps rescue French nobility from the jaws of the guillotine in the year of grace 1792. His wife, unaware of his alter-ego, unwittingly aids her ex-lover, now-French-special-agent in the discovery of her husband. The story follows the trite pattern of a super-hero movie where the beautiful, hapless heroine discovers the secret identity of her noble lover. There is, of course, a daring series of intrigues leading up to a predictable climax. Not literature.

But the film fundamentally misunderstands the novel. The novel isn't about the Scarlet Pimpernel, or Sir Percival Blakely, at all. It's about his wife, Lady Marguerite Blakely, and the couple's discovery what marriage really is.

In the novel, the audience sees inside the mind of Lady Blakely. She, too, has been taken in by the foppish facade of her aristocratic husband. She married him because he stood out as the most devoted among countless admirers. He has ceased to love her. She cannot understand why and holds him in contempt for his unintelligence.

She is so selfishly caught up in her own world that when the French agent presents her with a terrifying choice--whether to save her brother from the guillotine at the price of helping to identify the Scarlet Pimernel--she never seriously considers going to her husband for aid. She has too little respect for him as a person and a man to trust him. Only later, the dirty deed irrevocably done, does she think to speak with him about what has happened.

When she starts to speak with him, the audience finally finds out what motivates them both--what estranges them and ruins their marriage. Pride. The night they were married, Sir Percival discovered that his wife had sent someone to the guillotine. Trusting in his undying devotion, Lady Blakley proudly refused him an explanation. Out of pride, Sir Percival hid all his affection from her, unwilling for the world to see his love for the heartless women he then believed his wife to be. Out of pride, Lady Blakely refused to tell him how unwitting her betrayal had been. For a year, they hadn't shown each other the mutual affection they smolders beneath the surface of their cold relationship or to tell each other the truths the long to reveal.

The rest of the novel chronicles Lady Blakely's gradual realization who her husband is and the terrible betrayal she has made out of ignorance. To save him, she tracks him to Dover and then across the channel to France. In an inversion of the story of Erec and Enide, she slowly realises that her doddering fool is the bravest and most competent man in Europe. She regrets that she has been so blinded by pride that she could not detect his identity sooner and spare the betrayal. When they are safe, Sir Percival in turn laments the pain and suffering his proud reticence caused his wife.

The filmed versions of The Scarlet Pimpernel make into an adventure story what is actually a beautiful love story. The novel's brilliance lies in Lady Blakely's slow discovery how strong and masculine her husband is. It lies in Sir Percival's hard-won realization how important honesty is in a relationship. And it lies in the couple's final understanding that pride has no place in a happy, open marriage.

Shoujo Anime... or Even More Marriage Advice in Another Unexpected Place

Shoujo isn't a genre but a demographic. Unlike shonen manga, written for junior-high-aged boys (like Onegai Sensei) or seinen manga, written for eighteen- to thirty-year-old men (like Saikano), shoujo anime and manga is written for young women. As such, it tends to focus on human relationships and emotions. Honestly, most shoujo anime and mange is pretty cheesy. But, occassionally, it can be uplifting and insightful.

Fruits Basket is one of the more thoughtful shoujo mangas I've read. The heroine, Tohru, moves into a tent on a large tract of land after her widowed mother dies, leaving her without a place to live. The owners of the land discover her and invite her to move into their home as a cook, cleaner, and surrogate sister. Of course there's a twist. The owners and certain members of the rest of their family are possessed by the animals of the Chinese zodiac. They lose their human form when they are especially weakened by exhaustion or illness, or by physical contact with members of the opposite sex. Needless to say, hillarity ensues.

The manga explores a number of themes relevant and interesting to fifteen-year-old girls and maybe more than its fair share of romance and pubescant sexual tension. These are well-developed, but nothing new. But the manga also dwells on the significance and importance of physical intimacy for all kinds of human relationships in a meaningful way.

For a family that can't even hug without being transformed into a rat or a cow, intimacy is rare and sporadic. Many of the young men in the series were raised by mothers who couldn't hold them, who can't even help care for their younger siblings. Many of their mothers break down under the pressure of being denied the simple but vital priveledge of holding their babies. Most of the characters cursed by the zodiac have been raised by parents who are distant or absent at best, physically and emotionally abusive at worst. Their inability to touch their parents only makes the distance between them more difficult to bridge.

Even worse, none of the members of the zodiac are--can be--in meaningful romantic relationships. They live in the fear of what will happen if their lover touches them. In the end, they run away from love to avoid that fear. These are people who love deeply and crave meaning in their relationships with others, but whose curse denies them the priveldge they so crave. It's only at the end of the manga, when they finally break the curse, that any of the relationships which have been growing for the 136-chapter manga blossom.

The manga forced me to think about my own attitude toward physical intimacy in romantic relationships. I was raised in a religious tradition that seemed to have a love-hate relatonship with sexuality. Abstinence before marriage was clearly pivotal, so sex was villanized to preteens and teens. But that attitude contrasted sharply with the beautiful connection my parents and others like them obviously had. I didn't know what to think. Was physicality important for relationships or not? Was sex evil?

Since becomming Catholic, and learning more about the theology of marriage, I've developed a much better understanding--in the academic sense, at least--of just how important physical intimacy in relationships is. A marriage isn't even a marriage until it is consummated. And a consummated marriage, a physical oneness between husband and wife, is a natural and beautiful state created by God at the very dawn of human history. Touch is a part of human existence. A lover who can't touch, a husband who can't become one--these are tragedic figures.

Fruits Basket is the story of young men and women overcoming their personal tragedies, fighting against their curse for the priveledge of physical contact. It is marvelously insightful for capturing just how important physical intimacy--or at least the promise of physical intimacy--is for a romantic relationship. A hug, a kiss can make all the difference during a courtship. And a total personal openess, a perfect gift of self, is a vital part of a working marriage.

This is the third part in an unintentional series on marriage in anime and manga. You can see my posts on Saikano and Onegai Sensei. You can also read Fruits Basket on-line here.

Real, Live Fiance

I picked Adam up from the airport on Monday night. I hadn't seen him in person in nine weeks, twelve hours, and about thirty minutes. But he's here now and--as far as any of us are able to foresee--here to stay...

Despite the hypocrisy of my position, long distance relationships still aren't something I condone or encourage. They turn your beloved into two separate, sometimes irreconcilable people. I'm engaged to two Adams: a flat, distant, sometimes Adam and a very real, dynamic, right-here Adam. Every time I see him, I have to bring the two together, like trying to force double vision back to the way it belongs in the middle of a bad headache. The experience isn't now and never has been pleasant.

Flat, distant, sometimes Adam has his advantages. It's difficult to get into a serious argument with him. It's easier to get things done--like writing regular blog posts--when I only spend an hour a day with him. And when we've spent the other twenty-three hours apart, it's often easier to come up with things to talk about.

Most of all, though, it's easier to put myself before sometimes Adam. I decide how important it is to talk to him. If I'm tired or if I've got something I'd rather do, we don't talk. I have more self-determination about the way I spend my time. I set priorities differently when Adam isn't around to set him first.

It isn't that right-here Adam is controlling. Far from it. It's that, without him around, there's no presence to constantly remind me to put other people first. I'm more selfish when he isn't around. If my vocation is to marriage, being in a relationship where marriage is the ultimate goal enriches who I am, makes me want to be a more loving person to him and everyone I meet. It's just that constant, self-imposed moral pressure like that is a little difficult to get used to every time we've been apart.

There are other benefits to right-here Adam, too. Right-here Adam can hold me and kiss me. He can make me feel loved and appreciated in ways sometimes Adam never, ever could. He can be a helpmate--he spends so much time reading with me, helping me cook, comforting me when I'm sitting in traffic... These are things sometimes Adam just isn't capable of.

So, in the end, I always have to remember that I love both Adams. The fun, witty sometimes Adam I talk to on the phone and the deeper, more loving Adam I see in front of me now every day. It's just that right-here Adam is more dynamic, more human. I'm very grateful for that and look forward to spending the rest of my life with a guy of his depth.

Staying at Home

I know it's a bit early to think about raising children, but it's been on my mind the past few days.

When we went through our marriage prep course, Adam and I were heavily encouraged to discuss whether or not I would stay home. Adam thinks it is almost absolutely necessary for me to stay home with our children, whereas I'm a little more ambivalent. It's not that we don't agree on the importance of having a mother at home--at least before the kids start school--it's that I'm afraid I may go absolutely stir crazy and feel like a burden, rather than someone who contributes to society.

I couldn't figure out why I felt this way. Women have stayed home with children for thousands of years. Why did I think I was special? Then, reading my old Little House on the Prairie Cookbook, it hit me: staying at home used to be an absolutely vital and valued job.

Prior to the last century, staying at home was undeniably and necessarily a full-time job that contributed to the family and society in many necessary ways. If mom didn't stay home, no one ate vegetables or learned how to read. Without mom, the house was filthy, the family went naked. The elderly and the sick in the community went unfed. No one could doubt the importance of mom in such a role. No mom could feel undervalued or unhelpful. Compare that to today: in our less self-sufficient society, a mom's only necessary roles are nanny and shopper. Where's the sense of value and purpose in that?

It's not that I'm critical of modern stay-at-home moms. In many ways, it's much more of a sacrifice and an admirable thing to do to take a job society-at-large no longer values as it ought. Many, many moms do something great with their time at home with their children--they become far more than the nannies and shoppers society invites them to be. But I think it's obvious now--and I can't believe it never occurred to me before--that women left the home because they no longer felt needed and wanted there. The by-the-book position of "stay-at-home-mom" is merely a vestige of the beautiful and glorious thing it was before.

Adam's right, I know, about the importance of a mother staying home. We were both lucky enough to have mothers who did extraordinary things with their roles--teaching us, taking us to amazing places, serving as active members of the community... I hope, if I think about their examples--and if Adam and I continue to make our home as sustainable and self-sufficient as we can--I can contribute as much as they did to my family and to society and stay at home.

Picking a Fight

In our marriage prep, Adam and I have been told time and time again to watch out for the "first big fight." We've both found the idea of fighting difficult to imagine. Neither of us tend to get into loud arguments with others--at least not anymore. We've never had a real explosive fight between the two of us. Neither of our parents fight very often, so it isn't a learned behavior. Besides, what would we fight about?

Over the past few weeks, I've begun to understand. Making adult decisions for the "real world" has thrown us into a context where arguments seem possible where they never had before.

Adam and I aren't good at making decisions on our own. He tends to put them off and then make them impulsively. I fret endlessly, weigh the pros and cons before, unable to decide, I choose arbitrarily. Those two habits don't make for good shared decision making. Choosing a car, deciding what to do for summer work, signing a lease on an apartment--these things are all opportunities for arguments to begin I'd never really thought about.

No, we haven't had (and I hope won't have) any explosive arguments. Our relationship isn't in danger. I still love Adam more than I can possibly say. But I think I understand now why people who love each other have arguments about seemingly-unimportant things: those "unimportant things" are actually fairly important decisions people don't know how to make. It's very, very difficult to make shared decisions. I'm glad we became aware of it now so we can work on the skill together.

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.

Being Alone

Despite all the affected misanthropy of my early life, I really like people. I like being around them, even when my social awkwardness gets in the way. There are very few things I enjoy doing alone. It's so much nicer to go for walks, even silent and meditative ones, with other people--in fact, I started falling in love with Adam on just such a walk, Veterans Day 2003. It's even nicer to read with other people in the room, asking them to explain the funny bits and getting them a cup of tea when they seem especially abstracted. And I find God most easily praying with other people in the room, even if we're all doing it in silence.

That's one of the things I look forward to the most about marriage. Adam's a partner, to share life's moments with me, no matter how small. I'm glad every moment of our lives doesn't have to be an exciting climax. The spectacular and the mundane--it's all a pleasure with Adam.

But again and again during marriage prep we've been warned: you have to spend time alone. You'll go crazy if you spend all your time with your spouse! I guess I understand the principle, but I've often wondered how. What in my life will be as enjoyable without Adam there. Outings with friends perhaps, but that's not really spending time alone. How will I find the strength to be on my own when the temptation of Adam's company is so great?

It hit me tonight: bath time! Taking a bath is the one and only thing I truly prefer doing alone. I love to lie in the bubbles and lose myself in a book for hours at a time. I come out feeling so clean, renewed, ready to take on the world. And, based on the picture I found earlier, it seems I may have always felt that way. It's good to know I've found a place where I can find calm and peace by myself, without missing Adam.

So, I'm glad to have found a compromise with myself, something I really enjoy doing alone. I hope Adam can find his and that I can be as patient and understanding of it as he has been of my bubble bath disappearances when I go to visit him. Is there anything you
really enjoy doing alone?

Moved In!

I've only just finished assembling my new Tesco desk! So ends the six-month epic of furnishing my tiny, idiosyncratic room at the Oxford University Catholic Chaplaincy. I move out in two weeks.

Over six years since I graduated from high school (that makes me feel a bit dated!), my life hasn't really been the picture of stability. I've visited fourteen countries on three continents, seen eleven states. I've lived on two sides of the Atlantic, and in four states. My mailing address has changed a whopping eleven times--try explaining that to the person giving you a background check! I beat Adam for moves, but not by much. Even this year, when we both have the same physical address for two years in a row, we've both moved into new rooms in the same building.

I think I understand now why people talk about "settling down." I love the idea of living in the same city, building up a community I won't have to leave every six months. And I crave my own kitchen to clean, my own bedroom to decorate, my own craft room to liter with fabric and sheet music. I'm ready to carve out my own space in the world, literally. For a tiny pocket of existence to be mine, and to share it with Adam.

I've always been afraid "settling down" was related to "settling," giving up on something you wanted for the sake of emotional support. But I'm not "settling" for Adam--I'm choosing him as the greatest adventure life has to offer me. We're not retiring from life by getting married like a pair of agoraphobic recluses. We're setting up a life for ourselves, a foundation built on the rock, and setting out on the mission God has in store for the two of us--together.

Yesterday, I told Adam I was ready to go home. He asked me where home was. I told him that home is where he is. I don't care if we live in a cardboard box as long as it's a space that's ours to share.

You can read a chronicle of my family's European ramblings here. Pictures!

Hard Times and Marriage

More than a year ago, I dispatched Adam to read my very favorite Dickens novel, Hard Times. After struggling a bit through the beginning of the novel--Adam doesn't share my a priori love of depressing or straight-forward literature--he returned with a surprising verdict: Hard Times is a wonderful novel about marriage.

His announcement really shocked me. I'd like to consider myself an astute literary critic, but I'd completely missed any significant emphasis on marriage. Sure, the action largely centers around two couples, but surely the novel is about the monetary poverty and suffering of the lower classes, and the mental poverty and suffering of the elite. Armed with Adam's assessment, I returned to the novel over the last couple of weeks. Though I'll stick to my Dickensonian guns about themes of poverty, I think Adam was also right.

"Now, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life...This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these [school]children." These words open the novel and introduce the character of Louisa Gradgrind, the daughter of the speaker and the female partner in one of the two major relationships in the novel.

From a very early age, Lousia's father encourages her to dismiss her emotions and her fancies. She completely lacks experience in love and accepts an offer that would make her father and her brother happy--she marries the much senior Mr. Boundaby, the greatest humbug in the town. Needless to say, their marriage is unsuccessful.

Their loveless marriage contrasts sharply with the tragic love affair between Stephen and Rachel. Stephen, too, is trapped in a dreadful marriage with a woman who became an alcoholic and left him. He finds a long-term helpmate in Rachel, who tends to him with a quiet devotion, knowing that Stephen will never be able to marry her--no matter how much he wants to. Dickens draws our attention to how love makes a sacramental bond far more powerful than an unfeeling ceremony. Stephen gets from Rachel what only a blessed man finds in his wife: "I nevermore will see or think o' anything that angers me, but thou, so much better than me, shalt be by th' side on't." He looks forward to the day the two will be together in the bliss of eternity.

The greatest tragedy of the novel is not this poor couple's--they have hope for the future, even if it is only after death. Louisa has no hope. Her life is meaningless, and she knows it. Her upbringing has ruined her for the vocation to marriage for which her indomitable compassion suggest she is intended. Her father ironically admits this when he discusses Boundaby's proposal with her--"You do not come to the consideration of that question with the previous habits of mind, and habits of life, that belong to many young women." The goodness within her gradually stirs, first as she strives to help Rachel and then as she falls under the influence of her foster-sister, Sissy. But even after she returns to her father's house and her husband dies, she is permanently scarred. All the time in the world left to her "better nature" cannot undo what has been done. She remakes herself as a women children love, but is never loved by a man again.

What does all of this say about marriage?

First of all, love is what makes a marriage. Stephen and Rachel may never consummate their "marriage," but they are bound in a way far deeper than Lousia and Boundaby could ever be. A marriage without love means nothing.

Second, and more importantly, God grants to each of us only one life to live. Poor Louisa's life, the vocation her loving and compassionate nature could have meant for her, were stolen by bad habituation very early in life. To love, to be capable of receiving love, requires a lifetime of continually developing good habits. There is very little in life sadder than an unrealized vocation.

Literary Happiness

Leo Tolstoy wrote that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." The line is one of the most famous in Western literature. It seeps into the reader's soul with a kind of all-pervading "true-ness." But is he right?

Adam has been making fun of me recently for my choice in literature. I like depressing books where unhappy things happen to characters. I think the only poetry really worth reading is poetry about dejection, loss, and pain. These stories and poems seem to mean something in a way other stories don't. If Tolstoy is correct--unhappiness is a unique, case-by-case, individual experience--how can it be that the literary texts, the ones that are supposed to capture universal human experience, are so often the tragic ones?

There are many poems that describe the way I feel when Adam is far away. Many that capture the fears I have about losing him. But there are no poems that express the way I love him. No poems that encapsulate the way he makes me feel. There are analogies in texts, and I've written about these, but nothing really fits us. It isn't our unhappiness--missing each other like we'd miss a piece of ourselves--that makes us unique. Lots of people spend months, years, or even decades apart from their lovers. It's our love, our own story of our vocation to marriage, that makes us unique. Our unhappiness is shared; we are happy in our own way.

So perhaps that's why I prefer "depressing" poetry to "happy" poetry, if such simplistic labels ought to be applied. Sadness is sublime. It transcends human differences of time, or class, or race so that I enter into Poe's pain, Longfellow's longing, and Hardy's obstinate grip on hope. Happiness is transcendental. My love, my happiness, is intimate, uniquely shared with only one other person. It's our own. We can, and hope, to pass it on to others. But I can only ever share my happiness with Adam.

Am I wrong? I'd love to learn about the positive stories, songs, or poems that you find compelling.

Another Medieval Marriage

Much of the work on my dissertation focuses on the romance Guy of Warwick. The work has provided me with yet another medieval model of marriage, but this time with a few more added questions.

As a young man, Guy falls in love with the king's daughter, Felice. He goes to her and tells her that he loves her, but she rebuffs him. She's a princess, he a mere retainer's son. When he seeks her attentions again, she tells him that she will accept his love only if he becomes the greatest knight in the world.

Guy spends the next seven years traveling in Continental Europe and the Middle East winning tournaments and defending good against evil. He finally returns as the most renowned and talented knight in the world. He marries Felice, the most beautiful and intelligent woman in the world. They are the perfect couple.

Up to this point, the romance perfectly captures my ideal for marriage. Guy's love for Felice forces him to be better, striving to earn her love. It isn't just that he's showing off. He can't just appear to be the best knight, but must become the best knight--with all the qualities of courtliness, moral strength, and chivalry that go with the title.

A subtle allegorical note makes the romance even more astute. Felice's name means "happiness." Medieval philosophers recognized happiness as the greatest good of human life. She's not only the perfect woman, but the greatest good which Guy can ever attain in this life. Who wouldn't love that image of marriage? Guy's marriage to Felice represents a man who has worked hard to become perfectly happy.

But that happiness isn't enough for the romance writer, or for Guy. Just two weeks after they marry, Guy walks alone along the parapet of his castle, staring at the stars. He suddenly realizes what a fool he has been, working all his life for the sake of Felice rather than for the sake of Christ. So he leaves Felice, simply packs up and walks out on a pilgrimage which will consume the rest of his life. He's gone to seek God--Felice and earthly happiness are left by the wayside.

Felice, left sobbing on her own in her husband's extended absence, struggling to do good on her own: the most terrifying image of marriage I can imagine. She's been tossed aside by a husband who goes to seek a greater good. Their marriage has been insufficient. It hasn't brought Guy any closer to God. What a nightmare!

So the romance left me wondering: how realistic is it to expect marriage to help me be better? Why are there so few married saints? Is it really that hard to be married and holy, so hard that Guy had to leave Felice?

Adam and I want to commit ourselves to a life of doing good and seeking God together. I can't imagine the pain it would cause both of us if either struck out on his own her own. We hope our felicity will lie in our marriage to each other and, in loving each other, we can grow closer to God.