Marriage Moats-Walk in the Pennypack

Published: Sat, 03/02/13

Marriage Moats

Caring for Marriage

This week I went on a ramble in the woods with ten children whose combined ages are still less than mine. I was helping in the preschool, and the head teacher had laid the groundwork. She had a cart stocked with crackers, apple slices, water and cups, tissues, band aids and a blanket to sit on.

There had been a ripple of questions about snow pants and hats, which seemed a tad overkill when we were still in the foyer waiting for the yellow bus. But the teacher knew the elements. Snow pants were not optional.

By the time everyone was buckled into boosters the excitement was audible.

The driver let us off at the trail head and we stepped into our adventure. Within two minutes every child had a stick, and I tried to veer the pokey tips away from eyes. No one intended to do damage, but it happens. A great blue heron swooped along the stream, her wingspan like a paraglider. All sabers lowered as she passed, while their eyes followed her noiseless flight.

When the teacher led us deeper into the woods, everyone followed. Not one doubted her sense of direction. The wind picked up and we zipped a few coats, pulled mittens out of pockets.

The children were eager to explore, turning over rocks and hoisting them into the water with a thunk. None of the kids have watches, and wouldn't be able to read them if they did. But they believed the grown ups around them do, and are content to mess around until someone says it is time to leave. Mid morning kids began to lag, and the woman in charge set out a picnic under the maple trees. They were grateful for a nibble and a slurp, and amazingly there was enough for everyone. She was expecting them after all, and she can count.

After snack a passel of boys ran ahead, curious about a fallen tree. They scrambled up and held on to each other for balance while they walked the spine of an oak. Since none of them were especially secure, they sometimes toppled by pairs into the bracken, but snow pants make good padding.

Shortly before lunchtime my co teacher turned our feet in the direction of the bus, with enough of a margin for an inevitable melt down or two. She understands the limits of four year old endurance. By the time we climbed back on the bus they erupted with stories about sparkling pebbles and the boy who got his boots wet in the stream. I wondered which of the memories would last until their moms sat them up at the table with a sandwich cut into triangles.

I am walking on a path of my own. The trail leads me past fallen hopes and into the shadows. I lose my way, and stumble on the gnarled roots of a growing relationship.

Sometimes when I am about to let loose with a jabbing remark to John, the phone will ring or a child will yell from the bathroom needing assistance. It's almost as if Someone was redirecting me, to avert the damage.

One time I was eroding into orneriness, and feeling starved for attention. My inner diatribe zeroed on John, what he had done, what he hadn't done. Then I opened an email from a friend who expressed her gratitude for my ministry.

"I am inspired by the work you do." The monologue between my ears shriveled up. Here was nourishment, the kind that tastes sweet and fuels me for another day. I had lost any hunger for complaining.

I notice my knee jerk tendency to want life to hurry up or slow down. I have trouble trusting that the One in charge knows the terrain and is cognizant of the time.

Gradually I let myself be curious about where He is leading me, believing that He has provided ways to keep my marriage warm and fed. He is expecting me after all, and can definitely count.

At what point did I stop trusting the Teacher?

Photo by Joy Feerrar

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