Feeling the Hole

Some days, I feel the hole in our family more than others. Today was one of those days. (This is a depressing journal entry that will likely be of no value to anyone but myself. It’s not literary. It’s not beautifully expressed. But I need to process, so here goes…)

In the backdrop is the pressure to make a decision. By the end of this month, I need to decide whether to re-enroll the kids in their homeschooling co-op, and for the first time, I’m not sure what the right decision is. So I’ve been praying for wisdom, and asking God to make the choice clear.

So when my 12-year-old son gave me such behavior problems today that I was unable to teach him, I thought, “Maybe this is the guidance I’m looking for. If he can’t learn from me, he needs to go to a school.” But then the onion began to shed its layers, and I began to see the issues behind the issues. Now I’m not so sure about the school decision, but I am sure of this: there is a hole in our family created by divorce, and there is nothing I can do to fix it.

My son! Our progeny can say the most hurtful things. The disrespect was intolerable, so I finally ended the math lesson to focus on the character lesson instead. What good are academics if we neglect the heart?  I think I recall some great quotes along those lines.  Ah, yes, here's one by Aristotle:

Apparently I am insufferably embarrassing to my son. The root cause of his problems is that I am such a nerd and so annoying. (These were his exact words.) As he continued to speak, his anger then unleashed itself on females, claiming that moms and girls are trash. He then bemoaned living in a household of girls and lacking a dad in the household with him five days a week. Hastily after that, he added that he doesn’t want a new dad; he wants his dad. Dad understands him. Dad has similar tastes, and they have fun together. He’s able to study better at Dad’s house, because Dad has better control, because…well, because he’s Dad. He doesn’t want me; he doesn’t want a mom. He wants his dad. My son’s tears began to flow.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Divorce stinks. It creates a sucking, gaping hole where the heart should be and leaves one gasping, choking, sputtering, grasping at life but feeling doomed to failure. There is a hole in our family, and I cannot fix it. Even when I am free to remarry, a new dad cannot fix it. No one can fix it but You, Lord.

Lord, I don’t understand what you are doing. I ask You for wisdom about school decisions, and You highlight a painful, impossible abyss in our lives. What’s that about? Whether my son goes to a school or whether I continue to homeschool him, the hole will still remain; he will still miss his dad. In fact, if I do put him in a school, he’ll see even less of his dad. I’d get a break from his angst, but I’d have fewer opportunities to train up his character, and he seems to need it more than ever.

Lord, I need You to fill this hole. I have no idea how, but I don’t have to know. You are the God; I am only Your handmaiden. Lord, please fill my family’s hole. Please fill it with Yourself…although I have no idea what that looks like. Please show me what that means, or at least as much as I need to know. I am hurting, Lord, but I trust You. It’s all I can do.

Tango and Trust

Have you ever heard the expression “it takes two to tango?”  Well, now I believe it.

I used to think that if one wanted to learn any dance style, tango included, one needed only to practice…with or without a partner.  You can always dance with an imaginary partner, I figured.

Not true.

This past Saturday I got to attend a milonga for the first time.  A milonga is a tango social dance.  I don’t know much about it yet, but I’m learning bits and pieces.  For example, when a gentleman asks a lady to dance, it is customary to dance three songs together in sequence, called a “tanda.”  At the end of each tanda, the music plays a “cortina” (curtain) in a different musical style, to signal the end of the tanda.  If a partner says, “Thank you” at the end of one of the songs but before the final song of the tanda, it is a polite way to say that they don’t want to dance the rest of the tanda with that dance partner. 

I learned this last point of tango etiquette in an amusing way.  I was blessed to have some fabulous dancers ask me to dance even though I was a complete newbie.  After one dance with a gentleman with an excellent sense of rhythm (who turned out to be a drummer—that explained it!), I had enjoyed myself so much that at the end of the dance, I instinctively exclaimed, “Thank you!” simply to express my gratitude for the dance.  He cocked his head and with a confused look asked, “Do you want to keep dancing?”  “Oh, I’m enjoying myself tremendously.  I’d keep dancing as long as you wanted to!” I answered, with great gusto.  He grinned widely and explained the point of etiquette.  Mortified, I apologized profusely.  He laughed and assured me, “I thought you might not have meant it that way.  That’s why I asked.”

What I discovered in the course of the evening was that tango is all about trust and the art of connection.  It is all about the communication between the leader and the follower.  He must take bold, decisive steps so that she can feel where they’re going.  She must pay attention to his cues, his hand placement, the way he is angling her.  She must relax in his arms and let him lead her.  She must trust him, because she is almost always dancing backwards, blindly, and with no idea what is the next sequence of moves that he has in mind.  But if he is a strong leader, she can trust him and enjoy the surprise of what enfolds.  I felt this connection, this communication so much more with some partners than with others.  My greatest delights were the moments when something happened that was unexpected to me but that my partner had apparently planned out, and he softly muttered, “goo-ood.”  But since I’m a tango newbie, all too often I would realize too late that I had missed a cue.  Thankfully, one excellent dance partner in particular, who took great pains to explain moves to me and teach me, also had a gracious way of reacting to my errors: he would silently smile when I missed my cues.  My only correction was the good-natured curl of his lips, but it gently gave me all the feedback I needed, and we tried again until I heard the soft, “goo-ood.”

The relationship between a man and a woman, or a husband and a wife, has often been compared to a dance.  As I reread the previous paragraph, I can certainly see some helpful parallels and life lessons for these relationships.  Life works best with a strong leader and an attentive follower.  Two leaders would not work well together, nor would two followers.  We are not created identical but complementary, each with a special role to play.  God, may you bless me with a dance partner for life itself, and may we move in one accord, with gentleness and trust.  As we grow on the dance floor of life, may we be patient and gracious with one another, so that we might enjoy the process of becoming more and more one, creating a beautiful, unified, living, moving work of art.