I Don't Love Enough

A good friend posted this confession on his blog.  Randy Christian and His wife have been friends for many years.  Donna is struggling with a long term issue.  Read this article, and consider if perhaps, you could have written this article yourself.

Years ago I made a promise to Donna to love (do what is best for) her in any circumstances—specifically “for better or worse”. Of course, like most people I never really believed there would be a “worse”. But like all people, I have learned there is.

Over the past few months my commitment to Donna—my love for her—has been put to the test. She has been developed “Charcot’s foot”, a condition that almost exclusively occurs in people with neuropathy—a lack of feeling in their feet—usually from diabetes or back injury (she has both). Simply put, the foot’s internal structure falls apart (actually, tears apart). The beginning of this process would send most of us through the ceiling in pain and we simply wouldn’t put weight on the foot—allowing it to heal before the damage is done. In neuropathy patients, the pain isn’t there, so they don’t know to stop walking on the foot (it doesn’t help when the doctor blithely tells you to keep walking on it because there isn’t anything really wrong with it).

The result is permanent damage if you are fortunate—and she has been. If all goes well, she’ll heal as her foot is (misshapen and weakened) but be able to walk again. Of course, that’s after being confined to a wheel chair for 3-6 months.

We are now about 7 weeks into that process. It has been very hard on her, and yes on me too. One of the hardest things I have experienced is the challenge to my love for her. Remember—that means doing what is best for her. She can do very little for herself. She can’t go upstairs. She can’t put any weight on that foot (and oh yes, the other foot is still healing from a fracture the same doctor said wasn’t there). That means that, in addition to the normal (rather extreme) demands on me, I also do most of the house work (well, what gets done anywayJ), errands, etc. Getting out of the house is hard for Donna, and it entails me loading and unloading the wheel chair at every stop, pushing her around, and getting her anything she needs while we’re out. Friends help when they can, but the nature of what needs to be done, time, and our location limit what they can do.

Of course, she is the one injured. She is the one with permanent damage and disability. Not me.

I’m the one battling the little things like impatience, frustration, weariness, fear, anger, and all the normal things that go on between husband and wife. And I’m the one wondering why I can’t love my wife better than I do. After all, I would gladly lay down my life for her. The answer is simple. Living for someone (loving them) is much harder than dying for them.

In the course of all this I’m learning things about myself I’m not jazzed about.

I’m learning I don’t love as well when love is hard as I thought I would.

I’m learning I’m more selfish than I thought I was.

I’m learning that living for someone (yes, even the Lord—see Romans 12:1) is harder than dying for them—and living for them is what actually shows love.

I don’t love as well as I want to. But I think I’m getting better at it. Strange that it took this to make that happen. But maybe that’s what marriage is really about– loving when “worse” comes.