“As is”. When I see an ad for something being sold “as is”, the associations are mainly negative. The computer, car, or house is unusually low priced, yes. But the vendor knows that the item has some problems. He or she is forestalling any complaining or reneging on the sale, once concluded. Am I getting a good deal? Or am I being taken?
Yet to take or be taken “as is” is one way to define unconditional love. It’s the heart of the marriage vows, for example: “For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer…”. I take you, my spouse, “as is.” But it’s not always easy to believe that even those closest to us, truly take us “as is”.
A few months into our marriage, Mary and I were in our kitchen, getting dinner ready. I was, for no reason I could figure out, in a bad mood. I was civil, but Mary picked up on it. “You’re kind of owly today,” she commented. At first, I made some lame excuses. I wasn’t really owly. It was just so busy. Or hungry. Or tired. Whatever. Eventually, unwillingly, I admitted, “I guess I am.” I waited for the criticism or condemnation. Something like, “What’s wrong with you?! Why are you so moody? What do you have to be grouchy about?” Instead, Mary said matter-of-factly, “I thought so.”
For me, this little interchange was a revelation. I could be grouchy, and loved and accepted, at the same time. For a variety of reasons, I’d always felt that grouchiness or moodiness was just not allowed. I had to pretend I wasn’t feeling irritable, down, or some other emotion, or avoid people until I got in a better mood. But Mary saw my grouchiness and commented on it, without judgment. I assume she was opening it up, along the lines of, “Anything you’d like to talk about?” Strangely, my mood lifted. The permission to be grouchy helped me be less grouchy.
Years later, Mary and Michael and I were out driving. I was sarcastic or in some other way demeaning to Mary. Michael said, “I can’t believe you talk to your wife that way.” OUCH. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. But I realized that something was seriously wrong. Something had to change. We’d never done the cussing at each other thing, but…what kind of example was I giving my son? How was I treating my wife? I made some resolves at that point – not my usual, “I’ll be nicer until I’m out of the doghouse” ones. It being the beginning of Lent, I used those 40 days to practice, deepen, and consolidate the changes.
I discovered that, when I had the impulse to say something unkind to Mary, or respond with impatience, the pressure to do so was at first very strong. But if I took a time-out and sought the Lord’s grace, that pressure lightened considerably in 5, 10, maybe 20 minutes. I was able to come back into the conversation with no damage done. Also, it helped immensely not only NOT to make the nasty response, but to make a loving, appreciative response instead. By the end of Lent, I had begun to form a new, more loving pattern with my wife. It hadn’t been that difficult.
One morning, shortly after the new normal was in place, I was praying about this. I realized, “If I’d exerted this effort years ago in our marriage, how much hurt I could have spared Mary!” I was disgusted with myself and the years of selfishness. Mary came out and saw me crying. I told her how sorry I was for what I’d put her through. I waited for the, “It’s about time! Would it have been that hard to change sooner?”
Instead, she said something like, “You seem to be surprised that you’re not perfect. But I know you’re not. I don’t expect you to be. It’s no big deal. Sure, it took some time, and there were some rough words over the years. But it’s okay. You’re a good husband, and we have a good marriage.” Wow. Taken “as is” again. Do I have a sweet wife, or what?
“As is”. Maybe that’s not such a bad deal, after all.
To be continued…
