The Parable of the Window

Pre-Post Note:
YEAY!  I'm posting a week later than my last one!  YEAY for some all vitories.  Okay, so it's not on the day I'm trying to do it regularly, but still.  Baby steps ARE steps!  :)

Last time I mentioned sharing with you a Parable I've written.    I call it: The Parable of the Window, which you can see is the title.  Obviously.  :)  Now, this Parable has to do with my Love Languages, my man, and how he does or does not speak my Love Languages.  If you don't know anything about Love Languages.  I encourage you to read the book entitled: The Five Love Languages.  I've been reading a blogger I really like, so the link for that book will take you to her Amazon store.  Every little bit help!  I hope, if you're interested in that (or any book), you'll search for what you want through her store, which you can find by the links I've included and also on her BLOG.  It is a really great blog!  Of course, I may like it so much because she writes (and maybe thinks?) similarly to me.  At least, that's how it seems by what she writes and how she expresses herself and the way she names things.  I just think it's always fun to read from others who seem to be kindred spirits!

On to the Parable:

I am in an air-tight room.  There is no ventilation ducting to this room.  The door is sealed tight.  There is one single window in this room.  The seal around it, too, is airtight.  Only one person has the ability to open the window.  My Beauty Man, my husband.

When he opens the window, he allows fresh air to flood the room (my heart and life).  He opens it by touching me lovingly, speaking to me kindly and encouragingly.  He can open it by calling to say hi and tell me he was thinking about me while he's at work.  He opens it when he rubs my feet or shoulders - especially when he does so without being asked.  He opens that window when he gives me specific compliments about the things I'm trying to do, my appearance, something that he loves about a food item I've prepared.  There are myriad ways he opens the window.  But it is not held open permanently.  Opening it requires effort on his part.  When he stops making the effort to hold the window open, it falls closed and seals air-tight-shut again.  Oftentimes, my man not only stops holding the window open, but also leaves the room entirely... shutting the door firmly on his departure.

Leaving the room is figurative because my husband hasn't physically left me in any permanent way.  But every time we have a disagreement, he usually stomps off in a huff.  This is one form "leaving the room" takes in our marriage.  He also leaves the room when he refuses to have a conversation.  Or when he refuses to answer a question and says, instead, "I don't know," or, "I don't remember."  Clearly these are unacceptable answers.

And I am left alone.  Initially, I often don't realize he's actually departed.... he sneaks out as often as he stomps out.  I'm just so relieved to breath again... and he takes my state of distraction as his cover for walking away.  When I realize he's gone, I usually (especially in the beginning), would just think something like, "Oh, he'll be back soon!  He won't stay away long!"

But then he does.  And I start to really miss the fresh air... I miss his presence and his effort.  So, I start to knock on the door.  I almost always start with soft knocks... trying to get his attention.  Eventually it moves to louder and louder knocking and on to pounding on the door... just hoping to get my man's attention in hopes that he'll come visit my room and open the window.

The room IS air-tight, please remember, so eventually I start to feel difficulty breathing.  My breath comes with greater and greater difficulty.  I stop pounding on the door.  Actually, I stop trying at all.  It is at this point, at some stage of me sitting in a corner of my room (or lying in foetal position about to die of asphixiation) that my man comes in the room and opens the window.  Almost every single time...  I'm about to die in our marriage before he does anything about it.  :(

You may wonder why I don't open the door myself.  You might ask, "Does the door NOT have a knob on it?"  Those are appropriate questions, I suppose.  I hope, though, that you are not married if you ask them.  If you are, perhaps you simply have a different idea of marriage than me.  That is, of course, totally possible.  For me, though... if I open that door, that means I'm looking for some outside source to affirm me in ways that ONLY my husband should be doing.  And, honestly, I would rather die in my marriage than break my covenants, which I have made to my God and husband.  So, I don't touch the knob, though there certainly IS one.

There have been lots of times when I've been sitting in the corner... at some stage of dying or about to die-ness that I look at the knob a lot and wonder what it would be like to turn it and go outside my little room.  I know this is dangerous territory.  I am working on NOT looking at or contemplating that knob when things are at their worst.  Every once in a while, though, it has been kinda good that I looked... cause things actually do NOT look greener on the other side when I have.  Not overall... there might be patches of greener... but not the whole lawn... at least... when I've tried to see without seeing.  And since that's the closest I'm gunna go to checkin out that grass... well, I think THAT sort of knob-lookin' has done me good.

So, that's my Parable.  Definitely NOT amazing and minimally put as The Master parable-teller's.  But it's mine.  :)  Monster Girls can be pleased with their silly efforts, too... can't I?