Prodigal Magazine

• Tweet

• Tweet

As a romantic, I am always thinking of ideas to be creative with my wife, Abby, yet as an idealist and with a propensity for passivity, ninety percent of those ideas never come to fruition. But, I was not going let our first Christmas together slip by without a “you’re-theonly-one-for-me” moment.

There is always a slight fear in me when I step into the spontaneous, unknown world of

romance. “Will she like it?” “What if it flops?” “Is it selfish?” “What if we get in bad moods

and ruin it?” “Couldn’t I be more productive with this time?” “Wouldn’t it be better to go

straight to bed, than waste good sleep time?”

Abby is much more detail-oriented than I am. When I come up with an idea, she lovingly

questions how it is really going to function. She takes care of the details of things she owns

quite well, and gets upset when they are not cared for. Abby generally adopts new ideas

much more quickly, if they have been primed beforehand.

But this romantic idea was simple and genius, and I believed it would start a spicy, yearly

Christmas tradition in our home. It would go off without a hitch!

During the Christmas season, the first lights to get turned on in the morning and the last

ones to get turned off at night are on our Christmas tree. The thousand little bulbs provide

such a comfy-soft atmosphere, that they scream romance!

After a full Christmas day of gatherings with both of our families, we finally made it home

by nine or ten at night. We both get energized from quieter times in our life, so events that

require much socializing usually leave us both a bit worn. And it’s no secret that the

offspring of tiredness is typically crabbiness.

So we were both a bit on edge as we pulled our Jeep into its parking spot, and rustled

through the incredible fresh snow to our back door. Usually when we are crabby, we avoid

each other by doing things on our to-do list. Productive… yes…but not effective. We hide

behind busyness to avoid the conflict on hand.

But tonight’s conflict was mild. If ten is burning rage, and one is a passing argument, then

our Christmas day crabbiness was like a two. So she distracted herself in the kitchen doing

dishes, and I thought it was the perfect time for me to begin implementing my suave plan.

I went upstairs and began to shred the sheets from our mattress. Three short months of

marriage had released a small amount of wisdom in how to interact lovingly with her

personality. So, I yelled from upstairs, as I lifted the mattress up off of its frame, “I am

planning something, Abby… Have an open mind!” And for emphasis I repeated, “Have an

open mind, babe,” as I rounded the corner to slide the mattress on edge down the stairs.

The mattress slid easily down the wooden stairs. In my giddy excitement, I would have

ridden the thing like a toboggan-if only our stairwell had been wide enough!

I braced myself for the climax of the surprise, as it would soon be revealed to Abby. With

the mattress still on edge, I tentatively rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs where I

immediately came into direct line of sight of Abby standing at the kitchen sink.

My face was beaming. I was so proud of my idea, and the fact that I was actually

implementing it. Ignoring the crabby, fearful and lazy thoughts, I was really doing it!

Abby’s attention to detail and care for her possessions drew her to speak quick sharp word,

“Are the sheets on that?”

 ”No,” I said and responded quickly hoping to appease her and win her over, “Only the mattress cover!”

“Oh great,” she replied sarcastically, “something even more permanent to get dirty.”

“Calm, David, Calm” I said to myself as I moved the mattress from the hallway to the living

room floor in front of the Christmas tree.

But rage triggered explosively inside me. My mind raced with thoughts. The pain of her

criticism had dug into my core. “She cares more about this *&^(* mattress than about us. I

try to be creative and pursue her; I try to be romantic, and look where it ends up. See if I

ever try anything creative again!”

In a matter of 30 seconds the conflict had jumped from a three to a seven. My kettle was

steaming, so as soon as the mattress hit the floor, I decided to pick it right back up again and

bring it back upstairs to return it to its usual spot. If she cared so much about the mattress,

then from now on it would stay in its nice, safe place in our bedroom. No romantic night

sleeping in front of the Christmas tree for her!

I hoped she would realize how tragic her comments were. I would show her how she had

messed up, and screwed everything up. So, I huffed in child-like stubbornness, hoping my

anger would lead to incredible strength to get the mattress back up the stairs by myself.

I only got halfway up the stairs before I realized that the weight and bulk of the mattress

would prevent me from getting it up the stairs by myself. I would need her help to get the

mattress back up. How annoying to humble myself to ask for her help. I wanted to

“punish” her.

So I relented slightly and asked for her help, but I wouldn’t talk to her anymore. I won’t let

her thaw my icy shoulder. I won’t forgive her for days-or ever. She had to realize how

much she hurt me, and never do something so painful again. She had to learn.

We got it back up the stairs, and I slid it back to our room and then to the frame.

My heart went dormant as rage was now pumping my blood. I hastily made the bed, then

brushed aggressively past Abby, who was standing in the doorway to our room, hoping for

reconciliation. “I will not back down,” I thought. “I am hurt, she has to pay! She owes me. I will

make her pay!”

I did my normal bathroom routine, avoiding the mirror, avoiding the beastly look that must

have been on my face, and climbed into bed. As far as I could get on my side of the bed, I

knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I knew we needed to reconcile. I knew she was ready, but

I felt no strength. My rage overpowered me.

We knew we were on the same team, and that someone else was the enemy, not each other.

We had attended a marriage conference before we were married. At this conference, we had

learned that our sin needed to come up, out, onto the cross. We had learned that the cross

would always be where we could come back together. It was like the fork in the road that

we would both return to when there was conflict. Conflict was always a result of one or

both of us leaving the humble foot of the cross and forgetting the freeing work that was

accomplished there. As a result, a month or two into our marriage, we put a 4′ high cross in

our spare bedroom.

That Christmas night, we had both walked away from truth, pledging allegiance and loyalty

to ourselves, not to Christ.

Abby, was the first to humble herself and return to the cross. She was sobbing there, in thes

spare bedroom on her knees, as I was lying in bed raging, wondering how I long I would

have to be silent to her to even up the score. After ten minutes or more Abby came into our

room and gently asked if I was going to join her at the cross. At first, I didn’t even answer.

She asked me again before I responded,

“Yeah, when I am ready, in a little while” I muttered stiffly.

She went back to our spare bedroom and cried out again, “Jesus, we need you!” And

repeated and sobbed again and again, “Jesus, we need you!”

And I heard His voice in my heart saying, “Forgive as I have forgiven you. I have forgiven

you of so much! How can you hold unforgiveness towards her? Pick up the stupid mattress,

take it back downstairs, and invite your wife to join you. That is the only way this will end.”

I could not humble myself. Stubbornness held me pinned to the bed. I wanted revenge. I

would not move. Yet I knew reconciliation was sweet, not to mention how great forgiveness

is. I knew I wanted my life to write a great story, and that reconciliation is foundational for a

great story. But knowing and acting were not aligning.

Somewhere I must have inhaled a mustard seed, because I received just enough push to get

me out from under the covers. I met Abby in the dark room, on her knees in front of the

greatest symbol of healing and reconciliation, the cross. What was frozen, melted. What was

rage, softened. What was hurt, healed. What was judgment, forgiveness. No magic words,

no persuasion, no manipulation. We shared pure humility as we stared our Maker and

Savior in the face at the foot of the cross where He redeemed us from all our junk.

We had experienced our own resurrection! We were dead, but now alive. And life in

marriage is a powerful thing!

We grabbed the mattress together, with the pad still on it, and drug it down the stairs. We

brought down the sheets, and pillows and made the bed in front of the dimly lit tree. With

redeemed energy we undeservedly came together to experience spirit to spirit intimacy under

the tree.

A beautiful, unexpected Christmas gift that we will cherish and re-cherish for years to come.