“It is not intimacy itself that is so distasteful and intimidating to the world but rather the moral condemnation that comes with it.  People crave closeness with one another, but are repelled by the sin that such closeness inevitably uncovers in themselves: the selfish motives that are unmasked, the pettiness that spills out, the monstrous new image of self that emerges as it struggles so pitifully to have its own way.”
-    Mike Mason, The Mystery of Marriage (page 94)

For the past few years, I have been interested in the concept of living in community.  The idea is for a few families to intentionally come together and participate in life as a group.  For some, it might involve sharing a living space; for others, it might mean living in close proximity like my friends Kevin and Latonya do with three of their neighbors.  Meals, chores, errands, struggles, children, spiritual journeys – all parts of life are openly and honestly shared and worked on together.  I often feel lost in the concrete jungle that is urban living, so in theory, this modern day throw-back to living in tribes brings me a sense of comfort and belonging in a world that is fast-paced and autonomous.

In the past few months, Herb and I have talked very informally with two different couples about living this way in the distant future.  And in both instances, I felt myself emotionally back away from the idea.  In one conversation I told the husband of a very old friend, “Well, you love me now, but my fear is that if we live so close you will see all of my wounds and issues and you won’t like me anymore.”

If we allow others close – really close – what will they see?  What will they think?  And is that something that I – let’s be honest, we - want to deal with?  Can we hold the weight of the truth that surfaces when we are completely exposed in front of another person?

Most of us ask these questions in our day-to-day lives; it is a normal part of the internal dialogue we hold as we decide how close to allow our friends.  And yet, so many of us entered into marriage with carefree confidence in our decision to marry our partners!  For a culture which so highly values protecting ourselves from being completely seen by our friends, in order to maintain their admiration and appreciation, I must ask: what did we think would happen in marriage?  That we would continue this dance of monitoring exactly which parts of ourselves are dispensed to the other person?  Did we think that our spouse would see us completely but that the love we have for our each other would have a supernatural ability to free us from seeing those flaws and wounds in a negative light?  Did we assume our love would free us from being hurt by the negative way our partner sometimes responds to seeing us completely?

Many years ago, my friend Andy was telling anyone who would listen about John Eldridge’s book Wild at Heart.  As Andy, with reverence in his voice, described Eldridge’s idea that a man has a deep internal need to have “a beauty to rescue”, I was repulsed.  Aside from the disturbing and offensive connotation that I am little more than Princess Peach, stuck in a tower, until Mario comes to save me, I found the idea terrifying.  As I imagined myself holding onto my prince by the waist as his white horse raced past the ogres and castle guards, over fiery drawbridges and moats filled with crocodiles, I cringed.  What would happen to me when, after all was said and done, my prince turned around as the horse finally slowed to a walk, and said, “Oh.  I risked everything for this?  For you?”

What then?
For Herb and I, this is exactly how it happened (give or take an ogre or two). Herb could not have known what it would be like to see all of me.  He knew I was not perfect, but still, he idealized me in a way that resulted in complete surprise and dismay when my deepest self was exposed.  He was unprepared.  And I was unprepared for what it would feel like to be completely exposed; to have all of my woundedness revealed.  And I caused insult to injury in the way I approached my already disillusioned husband as I dealt with it all.  Do not worry – this story has two sides – I was equally surprised and hurt by some of the truest parts of my husband that were exposed after our wedding day.

After six months of marriage, divorce made so much more sense to me than it had before.  In the past, I had ignorantly assumed that divorce was the result of infidelity or not trying hard enough.  I humbly retract these over-generalizations, with full understanding now, that many divorces are simply the result of the shock, dismay, and anger that can come with being completely exposed by another person.  What I am slowly learning is that if we use our hands to hold and comfort the other in their exposed state (instead of using them to push the other away so they cannot see us in our equally exposed state), we will all be much better off.

How have you experienced the complete exposure of yourself that comes with marriage?