how we got here- her version

How did we get here? Well there will be lots of stories to tell eventually.

One is about how my parents raised me to understand that we didn’t make ourselves. That if we were on third base (baseball analogy) it wasn’t because we hit a triple; it was because we were born there. And our lives ought to be lived out of that humility and opportunity.

Another story will be about having a community of folks for a long time who have taught me about a Savior who came to bring peace, hope, good news to the poor. And who sends us to do that too, even when it feels like sacrifice to do so.

One will be about how Hunter was just made for this. I mean, seriously made for this: how he was raised to be curious and intelligent about everything, how he is so good at relating to people. How he wants to have an impact on people’s lives using skills and passion he has. How the job came out of nowhere (except to the brilliant author of our lives). There's a LOT to tell you in this one.

But I’ll start here:

One of the most significant moments in my life and in our marriage was the day that with the truest forms of strength and kindness, Hunter looked at me and said “Adrianne, the biggest problem in our marriage is that I don’t think I’m good enough for you… And you don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

Sigh.

Getting at the root of where that problem came from is kind of like seeing an enormous weed and trying to dig it out without disturbing and killing the flowers beautifully and closely surrounding it. You get started and soon realize that its beneath-the-surface root system is remarkably strong, deep, and entangled.

That conversation with Hunter came after we almost moved to Congo-the first time in our marriage we seriously considered moving to a developing country. Hunter didn’t think we should take the job (ahem, the job that seemed perfect to me in regards to alignment of his skills, our passion, the world’s need) and I was furious. Full of anger. confusion. bitterness. rage. I accused him, sometimes out loud and other times only in my head and heart, of not really having faith. Not really loving Jesus. Not really willing to live his life for him. I was full of venom. And it was spilling out all over the place.

How could my desire (unmet though it may have been) to live in Congo and serve Jesus among people who are poor cause such outrage and contempt in me? Disappointment, longing? Sure. But outrage? Figuring out the source of my emotions wasn’t even on my radar screen yet, but the soon-to-be-revealed incongruence surrounding my apparent love for Jesus and apparent judgment of Hunter would by God’s wisdom come to save me and prepare me for this move.

I promise I’m not changing the subject, but: have I told you the story about how 14 months into our marriage Hunter almost died? (of course I haven’t told you, this is my first blog post. Good grief).

Well, in December of 2005, Hunter started getting a high fever—like 104.9—and his body was convulsing a little. So eventually after monitoring it a little bit at home, we went to the hospital. They ran a few tests and gave him some fluids. His temperature came down immediately and his symptoms went away so they assumed he was extremely dehydrated and sent him home. We spent the next day at home and he seemed to be getting better.

Long (with fascinating details that I’d be happy to share another time) story short, 2 days later we were back in the ER with a 104.9 temperature and worse symptoms. A few more tests and the same result: gave him fluids, temperature went down and they were signing the discharge papers.

I called Hunter’s uncle (who is a doctor) and he got on the phone with the Emergency Room doc and famously said “sir, both this boy’s parents are lawyers. You will not send him home until you find out what the heck is going on.”

A few tests later, it turns out 2 days before that, Hunter’s appendix had burst. Upon hearing the news, doctors and nurses came in and took turns shoving on his stomach, causing no pain except the blunt force of their shoves. Turns out while most people’s appendectomies "present" with severe pain in the stomach, inability to stand upright or jump, etc., very rarely the appendix bursts beneath the pelvic bone, protecting the surface from pain (and preventing typical symptoms) while still sending sepsis through the body. Hunter almost died because he presented his appendectomy in a hidden but deadly way.

Back to our story of how we got here.

I believe what the Bible says is true: that we are all turning things into idols, things we worship instead of God—all the time. Pastor Tim Keller in NYC says this:  “The human heart is an idol factory that takes good things like a successful career, love, material possessions, even family, and turns them into ultimate things. Our hearts deify them as the center of our lives, because, we think, they can give us significance and security, safety and fulfillment, if we attain them.”

While it may be true that in educated, relatively affluent parts of the United States (my home) idol-making oftentimes presents itself as materialism, ladder-climbing, keeping-up-with-the-jones', romance/infidelity, and whatever other typical “sinner” symptoms you’ve got. It turns out that while lots of people’s sins "present" differently than mine, my idol-making preferences are equally deadly, perhaps even more so because of how they can remain hidden.

The symptoms were noticeable but only leaked out sporadically: I was furious when Hunter stood in the way of me realizing my dream. You know you’re getting close to your most prized possession when that kind of anger comes out. I was wrong in thinking the treasure I was defending was Jesus in that situation. I was actually defending the right to pursue the reputation I had wanted: to be known as someone who does amazing things for Jesus. Maybe I wasn't trying to keep up with the Joneses, which brought me respect from others and then, pride, but I sure was hoping to "keep up with the Mother Teresas." Hunter was standing in the way of me making a name for myself. The incongruence between my love for Jesus and love for Hunter was the classic gonging cymbal, but I didn’t have words for it.

Other symptoms: several close people around me felt judged, like if they didn’t adopt, if they didn’t move into an urban neighborhood, if they didn’t send their kids to public schools, and so on, that they weren’t radical enough for me. 

Also I name dropped like it was going out of style. So you name drop fashion designers or connections to wealthy folks? well that's no better, just different, than name dropping spiritual giants I'd met at work, learned from, read, etc. My name dropping is just as revealing as to where I put my identity.

When the surgeon removed Hunter’s appendix he told us “it was a hidden exploding gray mass of death”. I think that’s what it has been like for God to uproot some of this sin in me. It was killing me and hurting others around me too.

The past 5 years God has been carefully and skillfully as a surgeon removing and replacing this idol. By God’s grace he has shown me how I’ve hurt others, how I’ve hurt myself in thinking I need to do things to earn his love. Oh how I've shamed myself into not sleeping, into working harder and not resting in order to be somebody. I’m certainly not finished--this idol pops up again and again--but we couldn’t have gone 5 years ago without me spewing venom all over the place and now I think we are going a bit healthier. Hunter and I can sense when I'm believing lies about who I am, and God has given him strength and kindness to speak truth to me. To help pull me out of the trap.

I started out by comparing my story with uprooting weeds from a beautiful garden. As I processed the job in the fall with a dear friend, I started crying recounting some of my history of hurting people with my passion for the poor. What if it was all false? All weeds? I was so excited and hopeful about the job--the one Hunter initiated (not me), but surely God wasn't going to "let" us take it because I am just too bad. Hunter is really excited about the job but I'm too bad to be allowed to go. We talked about all the pruning and exposing God had done. So much pruning, for my sake and others. And I cried more. And then, this image came to my mind:

This itty, bitty teeny little sprout of real life. Like in the Secret Garden when they find life beneath so many weeds.  I turned to my friend and with quivering, surprised lips said, “I think maybe, just maybe, after all the weeding that was done, there might be something life giving in there too. something God actually made in me.“ 

something beautiful, humble, vulnerable and REAL. 

The best news of course is that my little, vulnerable sprout is connected to a life-giving Vine that cannot fail.

So, here we go. Praying that the version of me God is sending will help to cultivate life for my husband, family, friends and those we are moving to serve. Praying that there will remain congruence between God's love for me and my love for those around me. Praying I won't try to do something or be somebody in order to prove my worth, which is inestimable to God, as proved when he sent Jesus for us. 

So thankful to be on this journey with such a faithful Father, Gardener, Friend, Savior and my beloved husband, whose beauty I see more clearly now.