Old Dog, New Trick

It's disheartening to be middle-aged and still grappling on the mat with "issues" (oh, how I hate that word) that you've had your whole life. They just put on different clothes and a fake nose and glasses to come ringing your doorbell again. I'm constantly amazed that it takes me so long to see the disguise and rip it off.

One thing I'm grateful for is the extra dollop of willingness to try to be more forgiving of myself that I've gathered somewhere along the way. It's actually a very specific "somewhere." It's almost entirely from being with Scott for 8 years. Love, the real kind, the kind with muscle and tenacity and  trust and goodness, does have the power to heal some wounds. I'm not making Scott out to be a wizard, but I am grateful for every speck of the Scottness of him, and the way it's changed me.

Years ago when I got together with my first husband after 25 years of not having any contact with him, we sat and talked for a couple hours. He was three months away from dying of melanoma. He was happily married, had three kids, and was telling me about his wife. She was a "healer" for him, emotionally. (I should be clear though, that I think there's only one true source of healing, and that's God, even if it comes to you via other people.) ((If you're gagged out by such talk, I'm sorry about that, but then I did say my blog was for honesty and this is mine.))

Anyway, one thing he said to me about his marriage really stuck: "I taught her about God, but she taught me about Jesus." His wife was not a Christian when they met, she later became one, and as it turned out, had a whole truckload of stuff to teach him about love. Same situation with my marriage to Scott. He's been in the trenches with me, in the dark hours. He's chased down that part of me that believes she is wildly unlovable, a defective factory recall, backed it into a corner, and given it no choice but to reconsider, no matter how uncomfortable that is.