He’s had this green mohair cardigan for years.
Charlene gave it to him. The same Charlene who scrawled across two pages in his high school yearbook.
I tease him and call her “If-Our-Love-Is-True-Charlene.”
And he laughs and crosses his arms and scratches them like he does when he gets embarrassed.
But he still wears it in spite of the holes that have unraveled.
He’s practical like that. He hangs on to clothes until they completely fall apart.
I try to help things along–pull a thread here, stretch a hole a bit there.
I don’t quite remember, but I’m sure he’s wearing it tonight.
It’s Thanksgiving weekend, and the police officer at the door, he’s insistent.
Somebody has reported us as witnesses to an accident, and we must come to the station and give statements.
My husband, he’s insistent.
We were not, it’s silly, it’s stupid, it makes no sense, and we’re not going.
The officer is surprised at the refusal.
They argue briefly until Sissy whispers to my husband, “It’s a surprise. Play along.”
I’m a little scared, but we bundle up, leave the warmth of my brother’s home where the family has gathered, leave the laughter, leave the food, and head out into the bitter northern Michigan night.
We follow the cruiser that goes the wrong way and pulls into a hotel just west of downtown.
The officer gets out of his car and comes back to ours. “Your mother has made reservations for you here tonight. Happy anniversary!”
I so do not want to be here.
We go to the desk and retrieve the key to our room–which is dark, empty, sterile, and freezing cold. Cold enough, Dennis says later, that if we’d turned on the water in the jacuzzi, it would have frozen.
Someone has decorated, and there’s a bottle of champagne.
And right there in the doorway, I unravel.
Break down.
I don’t know if it’s because I miss the warmth and the light and family time.
Or if it’s just the safety in numbers–no expectations.
I’m not feeling grateful.
But I am feeling guilty.
There’s nothing–no way, no how–that will make me feel romantic.
That just makes me cry harder.
We’d actually hoped to renew our vows on our 25th, but life has been so incredibly stressful lately.
Nobody knows this.
He draws me close and shuts the door. We return to the office.
He’s upset because I’m upset, and he explains to the clerk that we just can’t stay, even though the room’s already been paid for.
He asks if we can get a credit for another night.
I find a phone and call my sister-in-law. “I. Just. Want. To. Come. Home.” I’m sobbing uncontrollably now.
So we return to the light and the warmth and the laughter, and I’ve pretty much forgotten the rest of the weekend.
We never go back to the hotel, and I don’t know if my mother got the credit. I do know that she wasn’t very happy that her plans unraveled.
That sweater’s gone now.
As comfortable as it was, it finally fell irreparably apart.
With a little help.
He shakes his head. “I slept with it for years after that.”
Not.
He laughs and crosses his arms and scratches them.
We don’t remember which of us finally disposed of the last fragments.
We probably should have had a ceremony.
Since then our marriage has been stressed and pulled and stretched to the breaking point.
But we’re resilient. The threads have held and grown stronger.
Chosen and knit with a three-stranded yarn.
Designed to last forever.
For better. For worse.
And though fifteen years later, we still haven’t renewed our vows, he sleeps with me and not a sweater.
You might say we have a mohair marriage.
Note from Wikipedia: The word “mohair” was adopted into English before 1570 from the Arabic, mukhayyar, a type of haircloth, literally ‘choice’, from khayyara, ‘he chose‘. Mohair fiber is approximately 25-45 microns in diameter. It is one of the oldest textile fibers in use. It is both durable and resilient. It is notable for its high luster and sheen, and is often used in fiber blends to add these qualities to a textile. Mohair also takes dye exceptionally well. Mohair is also warm as it has great insulating properties. It is durable, and resistant to moisture-wicking, stretch, flame and creases.
This month The High Calling is exploring the joys and struggles of marriage. This post is written in response to that series and linked with Jennifer’s original post over at Getting Down With Jesus.
Also joining Bonnie and the Faith Barista Community as we unwrap love.
And linking with Peter Pollock’s blog carnival on Romance.
Well, that post, it certainly was worth the struggle. And the more I read you, the more I want to pull up a chair with a warm cup of coffee and chat. Because you are real in this world of putting on the happy face. Loved it, mohair facts and all!
Shelly, to sit and chat, share some coffee. I’d love that.
Someone once said to me, “There’s no such thing as happily ever after in a marriage.” I objected, but her point was that marriages are the union of two individuals who bring to it their own personalities and peculiarities, so there are bound to be rough patches. As I reflect on our passing years I understand what she meant, but I still disagree. There definitely is a special kind of happiness that grows from the contentment and security of a Christ-centered relationship. We don’t need to formally renew vows in public for our spouses to know we love and value them and the comfort they bring us. We can make sure it’s communicated in private moments every day of our lives together.
That’s wisdom, Carol. And there may not be happy ever after, but there is joy ever after when Christ is at the center. And marriage is a daily thing, yes.
Sandy, what an great story — honest and hard and hopeful all at the same time. And isn’t this what love is?
Love–hard and hopeful at the same time. Some would think those don’t go together. Amazing sometimes what can grow in those hard cracks.
We could all use more stories like this one. Because everybody wants stories where everything fits and sticks together so nicely. Where everything complements everything else, adding the appropriate texture and colour.
But I want everything to unravel. And remember what remains.
Beautiful piece here.
He can’t really, I mean really, use us until we unravel, can He?
We’ve been at the breaking point, at least I have. I think my husband is a better person than me. But our trip helped, not to put the sweater back together again, but to turn it into something else, a throw, maybe.
Oh, Megan. I’m glad you had tome to get away and remake the sweater.
I often think he’s better than me, but really–he’s just different. We complement each other.
I love your honest heart Sandy. We’ve had to live through those seasons too. Days when I wanted nothing more than to walk away – change my identity and live in a far away land. But we made it through, and the love changes and grows deeper and gets as comfortable as an old mohair sweater.
Have I told you how much I enjoy your writing? Well I do!
And I heart yours. And you.
Congrats, Sandra, on 40 years (if I did the math correctly)…so glad that you have a “mohair marriage.” Sweet 🙂
Yep. Forty years last December. Thanks, Dolly.
See??? We told you this would happen. I swear, Sandra, it just flows out of you like life-giving liquid gold. This is gorgeous and funny and such a picture of the stress points we all have in our marriages – if we’re honest. I’m with Megan – I think you’ve put the mohair to another use entirely here. And a throw is a great image, don’t you think??
Yes, a throw. Lots of connotations there. 😉
hi beautiful friend… i love you… and i want to send you a package of greeting cards, if i may? you’ve been on my heart lately. can you email (wierenga.emily@gmail.com) me your mailing address, or fb it to me? ((thank you))
You. You live in my heart.
Diana said it so perfectly, “…it just flows out of you like life-giving liquid gold.” Wow! Your words drip Jesus over my life and it is so incredibly beautiful.
No words here. Just love.
SO so wonderful it drew me in and I was there… too. (not really)
😀
Oh, Sandra….that was just perfect…and beautiful even in the pain. And anyone who has been married more than a week understands. Much love, Patricia
Good night, girl, this is a great telling.
Love your heart.
Blessings.
I’m still marveling at the confidence of a mother who’s comfortable arranging a surprise that involves the police showing up and ordering you to go with them…
Love this story, Sandy. All of it.
Isn’t marriage the weirdest, funniest thing? I had a mohair sweater that was my Grandpa’s. My mother threw it out as it began to unravel and I still miss it all these years later. I hope I have mohair marriage. Great post!
Thanks, Kara. I always thought that thing was a little scratchy myself. 😉
I’ve been known to sleep with his bathrobe when he’s gone.
I might have spent the rest of my life thinking I was the only one who ever felt this way.
Oh, and instead of calling you a rabble rouser… I might try
“un-ravel rouser” =)
Ha! Aren’t “ravel” and “unravel” used as synonyms? I struggled with that.
So I could be a ravel-rouser. But then, so are you. 😉
WOW!
You can weave a story, girl.
I wouldn’t have wanted to be there either. And I’m not sure what that says about me. 🙂
I like the idea of warmth and family. Very.much. 🙂
That might have been the same year I got the speeding ticket flying through town on my way to work–and finding myself going the wrong way on a one way. It was a hard year.
Wow, I’ve just made my way over here and find myself twisted up into knots when you got to the hotel room, the cold, impersonal hotel room during a time of unraveling.
Thank you for sharing your story, Sandra. Thank you for being honest. Thank you for inviting us into this space as you revisited that time.
You were knit together perfectly in your mother’s womb, and the Lord just keeps those needles clicking throughout your lifetime, knitting hearts to each other and, foremost, to Himself.
Thanks so much, Ann. I love the visual of God wielding knitting needles.
Great story and testimony of an enduring marriage. I was engaged in your story as you wove the green mohair sweater through the narrative.
As I looked over your site I was happy to note that you are a fellow nurse!
Nurses rock!
Yes, the 3-stranded yarn is what can keep us going when other pressure hits and tests and makes us want to scream and run away. We can trust and rely on #1… our Lord… much more than numbers 2 and 3. Eternal blessings.
Amen, Cary Jo.
Mom trying to do something nice and actually spoiling your evening, I can understand the pain. The sweater. I love it when bloggers are open enough to reveal unwashed faces and become real. I loved your ending that he sleeps with you and not the sweater.
There’s that saying about getting all cleaned up with dirty ears…
Thank you, Hazel.