Lent, From Victim to Hero

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SARAH SABO

 

I sit, next to a tax document I was almost too lazy to search for and print out--in a business center of my apartment. It is quiet, and the task utilitarian enough, to make me ponder the big questions. That’s what quirky people like me do when confronted with drab walls, clacking keys, and low toner beeps. They try to think deep thoughts.

Sadly, I haven’t whipped up a beautiful poem from these deep thoughts, but I have had a recent epiphany about my marriage,and, I daresay, marriage in general.

It is the season of Lent and my life reflects that  right now. With so much in my life to feel thankful for, I feel insecure about voicing my struggles, fearing that I present myself to the world as whining wimp with a bunch of first world problems. I struggled with what to give up for Lent this year. I do love me some chocolate, but honestly, I have pretty good willpower and after having my third baby, some extra weight loss wouldn’t exactly be penance.

Eventually I decided to give up my victim tendencies--that is, my habit of feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in hopelessness when circumstances don’t go according to my ideal--for these 40 days. It has been the most liberating thing I could have done for myself and my marriage; it has truly brought me closer to God.

Let me set the scene: a frazzled mother of three waits on pins and needles for her knight in shining armor to get home. Normally, I most anticipate seeing my husband at the end of the day because I need the help. I need more hands! Someone hit someone. What the heck is in the baby’s mouth? The kids ate their vegetable and protein, but I forgot to make a starch. I really should read them a book.

The inner mistakes and guilt trips prevail, putting me in such a state of confusion, irritation, and desperation that I decide to jump down my husband’s throat when he arrives  home twenty minutes later than he planned. My reaction of the cold shoulder and wounded heroine routine feels both obvious and justified as I imagine him out doing things like enjoying a novel and latte at a ski lodge. Oh, wait a second. I recall that in reality, he spends his days busting his butt at work and finishing up his dissertation, all the while being a present and loving husband and father.

So I decided for Lent, I’d slay that tiny, whining, victimized dragon--the scaly, ugly monster who whispers, He just doesn’t care. I bet he was late because he was yukking it up with his coworkers. Does he even know how many disasters have happened today? To my surprise, silencing these thoughts has been easier than I anticipated.

 Simply knowing and believing that the man I married is trying his best, and holding myself accountable to do the same, has freed me from tendencies to blame and wallow. If you’ve ever felt the same mentality as mine creeping in, strive to stop worrying about what is fair and what he should do for you because you already did x and y for him. Give like there isn’t a bottom of the barrel. Love like a hero who doesn’t need rescuing!

About the Author: Sarah Sliviak Sabo is a mother of three beautiful girls pretending her tiny, overpriced apartment is a log cabin. Most of the time it works. She is the owner of Be Not Afraid Learning LLC, a tutoring business.

The Surprising Problem with Having a Moral Husband

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SARAH SLIVIAK SABO

 

Women of faith want a man with a strong backbone and pure heart to love and, God willing, raise their babies with. I am blessed enough to have won the love of a sacrificial, patient, and truly “good” man.

Although it's hard to believe now, I didn't instantly feel attracted to my husband. When I saw the way he treated every single person with genuine kindness though, I knew I wanted to be his friend and be more like him. I could write for hours about the way I fell in love with my sweet husband Robert, or for hours about the things he does that annoy me or make me want to scream (just being real here). At the end of the day though, his integrity will help me get to heaven. Although there is always room for improvement, we are both helping each other strive toward Christ in our daily actions. My point, friends, is to communicate that sometimes there is a danger or a lurking little pocket of resentfulness for those of us blessed with incredibly moral husbands.

I recently vacationed with my husband and our two young daughters in Chincoteague, Virginia. This particular area is small community famous for its secluded beaches and wild ponies. It was our first “real” family vacation and meant a lot to us. There were lovely, idyllic snapshots I will treasure forever: my 16-month-old squealing in delight each time she saw a glistening clam dig its way back into the sand; my oldest daughter’s courage after getting knocked down by a wave; the way my father and husband’s eyes grew big and childlike looking at their handmade ice cream sundaes; my mother’s compliment that my patience with my children amazed her. All of these are like treasures to me.

Yet the mosquito bites between my baby’s fingers, the oozing welts on my back, the biting flies that were so tremendously persistent at the beach, and the broken air conditioner at our house were some other snapshots I’d rather forget. One particular day as we biked through a wildlife refuge, I had a bit of an epiphany.

My husband was about fifty yards ahead of me on his bike, even while pulling both of our girls and a load of beach supplies in a trailer. I looked down at my feet, scarred from reconstructive surgeries, my leaking nursing breasts, and I felt so defeated. Here I was, riding through a beautiful part of the marsh, and I was so focused on the heat and how slow my body was. I recognized that I was defaulting in too self-deprecating a manner and realized I could take a life lesson from this bike ride.

I was bitter that my husband was so far ahead of me on the path even with the extra weight. I was jealous that there was probably a big smile on his face and that the combination of physical exertion, high heat, and sleep deprivation seemed enjoyable to him. Bam. It hit me right between the eyes in that moment: I sometimes feel this same way about my husband when he shows optimism or patience in the face of my own negativity or impatience. I grumble inwardly to God about how he is just more patient, more loving than I, and how it seems to be so easy and natural for him. I see him as a mirror, instead of a helper, for my own faults.

From now on I want to look at my scars and think what I’ve overcome. I want to look at my chest and see the nurturing I do. I will focus on beauty and rejoice in the small victories of character in my own soul rather than comparing myself to someone else. I will remember that Jesus died for me as I am, and that my husband chose me for a reason. I refuse to stare at my handlebars and the mosquitoes landing on my arms instead of noticing the wild ponies grazing in the distance.

About the Author: Sarah Sliviak Sabo is a wife to her college sweetheart and a mother of two daughters. She teaches online classes for Mother of Divine Grace School and is the owner of Be Not Afraid Learning LLC, a tutoring business. Her life's goal is to make everyone she meets feel loved.