Even with him 8,000 miles away…
coming home for just a few weeks every 6 or 7 months…
My Gregg still has a “Honey-Do” list waiting on him.
Category: Marriage
The first thing that attracted me to Gregg was his mind. Before we met in person, we had known each other online for two years as part of a writers’ group. This group was supposed to be about writing, but writers like to read what they write, so it was a prolific bunch. We discussed everything from writing to politics to religion. After 9-11, it really exploded with talking and writing, and it wasn’t unusual to get 400-500 emails a day. Gregg and I are very similarrily minded when it comes to religion and politics, so we “bonded” intellectually long before we met. However, that bonding never went beyond the discussions to anything personal simply because I was married. The first time we ever had a private conversation, I was already separated from my husband.
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Those of you who know me know that I don’t get emotional often. But this hit me so hard and I just started crying. I had to turn away and busy myself just to get a handle on it.
The weekend after we met for the first time, Gregg confessed his love for me.
So, a couple of weeks ago, he told me that he mailed me a box and he couldn’t wait for me to get it. (For you new visitors to my blog, Gregg is in Afghanistan.) He just doesn’t have time or opportunity to mail a lot of boxes, so I was excited. For him to have purchased something for me, and be able to work time into his schedule to actually mail it was very intriguing. When I got the box today, it was very small, and my anticipation of what was inside was further piqued.
I don’t know that we as women give the differences in men and women’s brains and thinking enough credit. We feel. We feel deeply. When your husband writes you a love letter, it likely fills your heart to overflowing. His words likely awaken a romanticism inside of you, make you go all soft and gushy inside, give you words to focus on, ponder, adore. It can make you fall in love with him all over again.
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Finances are always a tough topic in a marriage. Other than sex, it is probably the largest topic of discord in most husband and wife relationships. The problem is that most people feel uncomfortable talking about money. Talks about money can slide into arguments about who spent what on lunch, who promised too much to charity, who should have been saving more, and who makes the most. The thing is, money is a necessary factor in life and talking about money is a necessary factor in a marriage.
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This chapter is extremely timely for me. Since long before we were married, Gregg has done the same thing. He is a computer consultant and teacher. A company calls him and says, “We need x, y, and maybe z.” And, Gregg packs his bags and makes hotel reservations and flies to the company and does x, y, and usually z². Another company will call and say, “We have this situation and this many people need training.” So, Gregg will pack his bag, make hotel reservations, and fly to the next exotic city where he’ll teach and train for a week or more. He’s really quite good at what he does.
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≈WEEK ONE: THE POWER≈
As I read this introduction to the book, I was overwhelmed. For those of you who have not read my testimony, when our youngest son, Johnathan, was an infant, Gregg and I went through a terrible time in our marriage. Gregg was suffering from a terrible depression that was manifesting itself in destructive ways. Since we only saw each other on weekends, I had no idea about how much he was suffering. I was just going through my happy life never believing for a moment that my marriage might be in trouble, that my husband might be in agonizing pain, that satan was wielding his destructive ways and working on both of us.
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Scott is very particular about what is “his”, and he’s very obsessive about it. When he has a cup, it’s his cup, and he simply cannot swap. He’s always been this way, and rather than add to his stress of the week I would be gone, I just made sure that there was a very definite, “This is Scott’s,” and, “This is Jeb’s,” when I packed there things.
