Marriage Moats-There But for Fortune

Published: Thu, 05/23/13

Marriage Moats

Caring for Marriage

My favorite uncle used to ask me to sing him a song called There But for Fortune. I was barely sixteen and had spotty understanding for why he found the words so compelling. It is about the slender line dividing a sober man from a drunk, or a prisoner from a free man. A reserved minister more prone to a joke than sentiment, Uncle Don listened, as close to tears as I am now to you.

This week a tornado tore through Oklahoma, leaving a swath of destruction. There are photos of people sobbing over the wreckage, clutching each other. It is overwhelming to imagine the road back to normal. But there is one photo that is teeming with hope. On one side of the cul de sac houses are in shambles. On the other they stand intact.

What has emerged between the people in those homes? Did families adopt one another, inviting neighbors into the shelters that by luck of the draw are still standing? Perhaps the inhabitants were simply civil last week, nodding as they rushed to their mini vans, coffee in hand. Maybe they walked their dogs along the sidewalk, commenting about the price of gas.

But in a blink they become for each other a gaping hole where compassion flows through, from the giver to the given, swiveling into gratitude in its return. What kind of intimacy can emerge from opening the doors not only of your living room but your bathroom, your kitchen, your laundry room?

It is not as if the folks in one block are somehow more entitled to a roof than those ten yards away.

I have seen marriages fall apart, ones that months before looked as peaceful as a mid west suburb in May. I am not more deserving of a faithful spouse than they are. Not by a long shot. When I replay old tapes in my head of the tirades I rained down on unsuspecting children, of blustering accusations I flung at John in the name of being Right, I want to find the cellar door and hide my guilt.

But miraculously my marriage is still standing, only a few shingles blown off, debris in the yard. Yet my neighbor's covenant lays like a downed tree at her feet, ripped up by the roots.

I think I will invite her in for tea.

Photo by Andy Sullivan

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