It’s Not Your Boat

Matt, who wakes up much earlier than I, sent me this nice article to catapult me into the day. I don't know how he found it, or how on earth he thinks it applies to me, except that, wow, sometimes we just enjoy the myriad spectacular insanities of the Internet, and maybe he thought we could enjoy them together. Also, we did go out to lunch this week, so, you know, in that way we have a ephemeral connection to this poor lady.

So anyway, let's just have a little tragical moment examining what might be going wrong for her. She writes,

I put John last, pretty much all the time. And it's not like he's a bad guy — far from it. He does the laundry, grocery shopping, cooking, makes the kids' lunches, even braids my daughter's hair. He often compliments me, and regularly asks if we can go away, alone, for a weekend, or at least out to lunch.

Oop, there it is. She “puts John last pretty much all the time.” This may come as a shock, but this is a bad idea in marriage. Your spouse can't be last. He can't even, actually, be second. Well, I mean, he should be after God. But if you're going to be thinking about your marriage in a Christian way, your husband comes before you. So, God, then husband, then children, then you. You come last. It's pretty remarkably insightful that this woman would know that that's what she's doing and write about it publicly. She obviously, by the defensive justifying angry posture, knows she's doing something wrong. But she doesn't care.

She writes,

I tell him I have no time for leisurely lunches, let alone two entire days away. I can't be bothered to figure out who is going to take care of our kids, pack, unpack, then scramble getting ready for Monday morning.

Color me crazy, but he seems like such a nice guy that I bet he would help with some of these lists. And, here's a new idea, who says lunch has to be leisurely. You can go out and have a miserable time, but still, you know, go out.

Carrying on, she writes

I've spoken this sentence to John. “Let me be clear: If I have to choose between you or one of the kids, you will lose every time. Do you have a problem with that?”

I'm guess the guy has said he doesn't have a problem with it, or if he does, he's willing to still stick around. I can only imagine the kind of hurt he must be carrying around, to have someone who purports to love you, say something like this. I'm going to suggest something shocking, though, and that's that it's not just her fault. We can see that this is so in the next bit.

I am tired, and I am worried. Worried there won't be enough. Enough money, enough luck, enough time, enough of me. John's a great dad, but I play a singular role in each of my kid's lives. And as they've grown, the urgency to get it right screams at me, day and night.

The ship is going down, and I've only got three life jackets. Who am I going to give them to? John, you learned to swim a long time ago, right?

This is a poor worn out lady who on day one of her marriage began calling the shots. And a woman who calls the shots in marriage, I'm sorry to say, is usually a pretty angry woman. The fact that she thinks it's her boat and her job to pass out the life jackets and her job to have a “singular role” means that she will carry on in grief and anger until her grey hairs go in sorrow down to Sheol. And the reason she's angry is because he has never said, It's Not Your Boat. No, in all meekness and humility, like a good American husband, he just climbs out of the boat and lets her assign life jackets and trauma to all the world, and himself gets to play the victim. The image I have, besides Adam and Eve, is Sarah's burning anger for Abraham after he did what she said.

It really is tragic. I feel almost moved to pray for her, and him, and probably lots and lots of couples who not only do not know Jesus, but don't know from whence cometh their anger and sorrow. After I have duly prayed, though, I'm really hoping Matt will take me out for lunch again. And make sure the boat has an appropriate number of life jackets.